


When The Wedding Bells Ring

by TheGayDhova (TheChosenDhova)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged up Stiles, Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Bonding while in captivity, Captivity, Developing Relationship, Drowning, F/M, Future magical Stiles, Going to get dark, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Medium Burn, Multi, No underage, Nogitsune, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Peter, Psychological Torture, Sassy Peter, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Self-Doubt, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter - Freeform, The Nemeton - Freeform, Torture, Trans Male Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski, frenemies to lovers, slowish burn, throwing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChosenDhova/pseuds/TheGayDhova
Summary: On the day of their wedding, albeit an arranged one, Stiles finds Peter and himself kidnapped moments before it was set to happen. He's not sure what they want, or why they took him. All he knows is that his power has never sprouted and certainly hasn't helped so far. What will follow, he doesn't have a clue, but at least he has a werewolf at his side. It's just a matter of getting him to work together without all the added comments, thank you very much Peter.**Torture, isolation, and all that jazz. Tags are important.





	1. An Uninvited Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! Some notes I thought to give before you dive in. This story does feature a trans character (Stiles), and thus I just wanted to say that everyone's journey is different, so I'm mostly basing my own experiences and feelings into it. I don't know how long this story will turn out to be, but it WILL get dark. There will be mentions of rape, seeing as there's some pretty dark guys that took Stiles and Peter, but none will take place. I don't want to give too much away, but there will be things seen just as bad. If that's not your thing, feel free to back out, I completely understand.
> 
> This is my first Steter fic, but I've loved this pairing for as long as I can remember. Let me know if you have any thoughts, comments, ideas, or just to say hi! And hopefully you enjoy! (Yes, there will be a happy ending because I'm a big sap and want my boys to heal afterwards.)

“Hold still son.”

“I’m trying. It’s too tight Dad. Can’t we just get Mel to do it?”

With an exasperated sigh, John Stilinski finally lets go of Stile’s shirt collar, the mess of a tie in an unforgiving knot resting on the white fabric.

John eyes his son with a knowing look.

“I’m not going to take offense at that only because I know you’re trying to stall. But yeah, I can grab Melissa. God knows she’ll get you to stop fidgeting too.”

Stiles stills, body going taut compared to his foot shifting and squirming from before. He looks firmly chastised.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Stiles can’t help but look down, taking in his half put together suit—New shiny black shoes, pressed black trousers (just in the beginning stages of wrinkling), a tucked in white shirt that was soft as hell but loose around the shoulders. His vest was sitting on the back of the chair by the vanity.

Normally, such brand name and fine fabrics never would’ve been in their pay range, but all of it was provided to them by the other grooms-to-be’s family.

Which there-in lie the problem.

John noticed the crestfallen look fall over his sons’ face, the unnatural stillness to his form now that his fidgeting was pointed out.

“Hey, it’s all right.” He says, stepping up once more and placing a broad warm hand on Stiles slim shoulder. “Everything’s fine. We’ll get Melissa to sort out your outfit, and then before you know it, the ceremonies going to just fly by.” He tries to reassure his son by giving him a small smile—one that would’ve worked in any other situation.

Stiles just looked even more nervous.

“But it’s not Dad. It’s really not.” he ends up saying. His eyes grow annoyingly wet and he has to look away from his Dad’s knowing gaze. “It’s not just the suit and you know it.” His voice cracks at the end, his jitters returning full force.

John breaths in once, before pulling his son into his arms and hugging him tight to subdue the shaking.

“Hey, hey. Hush. It’s all going to be all right Stiles. You know I would never lie to you about this. You know the Hales son. They’ll be good to you… _He’ll_ be good to you. Otherwise you can know I’ll be the first knocking on their doorstep shotgun in hand.”

Stiles surprises himself by laughing, though weakly.

“Geeze Dad, you’d be fired for that before you could even pull the trigger. And it’s not like it’d do anything…Werewolves, after all.” He points out, drawing away reluctantly from his father’s warm hold.

John smiles at Stiles, mirth playing in his face.

“You know me. I’d go to Chris if I had to for some wolfs bane bullets.”

Stiles laughs again, as if they aren’t talking about literally murdering his fiancé if Stiles ever comes home hurt.

“Thanks Dad…I’m still nervous, but that helps to know. And…I know they’re not bad. Laura’s pretty awesome. And Cora too, but mostly cause it’d be weird otherwise since we went to school together.” He says, more for himself. This day has been planned for years after all….

“I just wish…” he starts. When he doesn’t continue right away, John squeezes Stile’s shoulder again in comfort. “I just wish I’d gotten to know him better…I’ve known my whole life that we were going to be married, but the guy doesn’t even have the courtesy to talk to me more than once a month. And all those family meetings, he wouldn’t even talk to me there! It’s like the jerk just has to rub it in my face that he doesn’t want to be marrying me. At least I can say it’s mutual.” Stile’s little rant ends with his eyes watering once more, and he can’t stop his heart from racing as all the feelings that were pent up for months, hell _years_ now, are finally let out.

 _And what a great day to happen on too, Stiles. Good job. Now your fiancés actions are even more vindicated._  
“I mean, he literally has to marry someone practically just out of high school…I can’t really blame him I guess…”

“Hey, stop that.” John cuts in before Stiles spouts off any more ridiculous reasons. “We both know that’s not what he’s thinking. I know for a fact that he’s told Talia how he appreciates how mature you are. And the wedding was held off till now so that you’d have time to enjoy school, even get two years of college in. I for a fact appreciated that _A_ _Lot_. And you think I’d willingly let my son get married off to some jerk who didn’t care about those things? You two will have plenty of years to get to know each other, and I can promise you, when you look back on today, you’ll know you did this for the good of the Pact.” John stops there, debating on saying more, and when he sees the sparking hope in his sons’ eyes, he goes for it.

“And…for your mother. We owe the Hales, and Beacon Hills, the stability and trust that this dang wedding will bring. The Hales love you Stiles, and you can home anytime you want. That will never change, no matter who you were married to.”

At the mention of his mother, Stiles can’t help but feel his heart squeeze. The Pact. The whole reason this wedding was happening. Stile’s mother had been powerful in the ways of magic, a born natural. She’d been training to be an emissary when she’d moved to Beacon Hills many years ago. Ironically, it was the Hales she’d applied for, after using contacts through Deaton—the local druid.

He doesn’t know the whole story, but that’s around when his Dad met her, and they pretty much immediately hit it off. The Hales have always welcomed the Stilinski family in, and when Stiles was born it was considered a miracle after a year of trying. It was also no coincidence that on the day of his birth, the Nemeton had the biggest spike of power ever recorded, and since then he’s been told of his importance in keeping Beacon stable. Of course, there was just one issue…

“But we don’t even know if I have any magic…Deaton just seems to think I need time. But it’s been years! And that’s what this wedding is supposed to be right? An alliance of power, an Alpha and a magical user to keep the Nemeton stable. But what if I never get powers? What if this all ends up to be pointless and they hate me for it??” Stiles says, working himself up again.

John sees it, and grabs his son by the shoulders.

“Damn it, I wish your mother was still here…” he says, more under his breath, but both men take a moment of silence for her memory. John sighs, trying to get through to his son. He tries to think of what she would’ve done in this situation. “Stiles, listen here. Whether you end up being magical or not, the Hales will still love you. They’ve loved you this long haven’t they? And as for the Nemeton, well then I guess it’ll just have to find another source for stability. I promise, just give it some time, and if you’re still not happy and no magical shenanigans has happened within the first year, I will personally bailiff the court case to get you divorced. I swear to you that, ok son?”

Stiles takes a moment to let that sink in, knowing his father was trying his best. Honestly, realistically Stiles knows he’s just overreacting, but the thoughts have plagued him for as long as he can remember. Before her passing, Claudia had been so sure he’d be magically inclined, and if he couldn’t trust her word, then he couldn’t trust anyone’s. So with a nod to his father, he steels his nerves and holds his Dads wrist in a tight grip.

“Yeah. Ok Dad. I believe you.” he says, smiling to reassure his father.

John nods back. “Good. Now, let’s get back to getting you presentable. You mother would turn in her grave if she knew I let you get married looking like a mess.” He says, voice soft but playing for strength. Gods know his son needs it.

0000000000

“There, all good. I can’t believe two full grown men can’t even put a tie together right. I thought you would know better at least, John.” Melissa chastises the two, righting the knot of Stiles’ tie within minutes. Stiles blushes at her authorative yet motherly tone.

His Dad just clears his throat, cheeks reddening at her comment too. “Thanks, Mel. Sorry to drag you away from setting up out there. It just got worse the more we tried to fix it. We’re all good now, right?”

Melissa just rolls her eyes, stepping up to John to peck him on the cheek. “Yup, all good. And it’s no problem, they’re pretty much done out there. We’re just waiting on Deaton to arrive. How about you Stiles, honey. You holding up there alright?” She asks, turning to the young fidgeting man.

“Oh yeah, perfect. A-O-kay. Kinda just want to get it over with already.” He admits, and yeah, that’s probably best while he has the strength. He’s trying not to think about how everyone he knows is waiting out there in the chapel’s main room. Not to mention, any family of import within Beacon Hills. All of the Hales (Obviously), the Argents (Allison, her dad and mom, and grouchy grandfather (according to her, but Stiles could definitely agree)), and even some visiting mages and werewolf packs.   _This is the wedding of the century after all_ , he reminds himself. He tries not to think too hard about that.

All of this…just to keep a tree alive. What a life.

There’s three short knocks on the door, and then Scott is peeking in at the three of them. He looks just as nervous as Stiles feels, yet he’s obviously already hit the snack bar if the crumbs on his tie are anything to go by. Stiles hides his smile by turning to the mirror on the vanity.

“Hey guys. Deaton just got here. Said we could start in twenty minutes. Peter’s not out there yet, so Talia said you don’t need to rush.” Scott relays.

“Thanks Scott.” His Dad says. “Well son. We’d better get out there…you remember how this goes right? I’ll be waiting by the doors of the entrance to walk you down. Ah, I guess you don’t need vows for this…Scott, you’ve got the rings right? And Mel, did they—“

“Dad. Hey, chill. It’s all good. Honestly I’m glad I don’t have to give some faulty fake speech about ‘love’ and crap when I barely know Peter. This is all just ceremony. Go on, I just need an extra few to fix my hair.” Stiles says, breaking his Dad off from his sudden fretting.

Scott just smiles from the doorway. “Yeah dude, I got ya. Don’t tell him I told you, but Derek said his uncles being super prissy about the suits and food today, and it’s kinda funny.”

“Hey now. No talking behind the grooms back Scott. Let’s just get back out there. And wipe those crumbs off your collar—“ Melissa says, leaving Stiles with a smile. His Dad leaves too, but not after one more Stilinski hug and shared ‘I love yous’.

Stiles turns to the mirror, finally alone.

He does find it funny, picturing _Derek_ of all people helping Peter to get ready—when everyone knows Derek doesn’t have an ounce of style know-how other than leather. And Peter…well, all Stiles can really get from him is that he can be a sarcastic snark most of the time. Which, so is Stiles, and he can totally get behind that. But he still barely knows Peter, and last they talked was weeks ago to finalize the happenings of the wedding. Talia did most of the talking that day, if Stiles remembers correctly.

He sighs, taking a moment to center himself. He’s not usually this emotional, but given the day and setting, he lets himself have this before facing practically all of Beacon Hills and then some.

He knows the ceremony itself is pretty simple, since it’s literally just a contract that was signed a few months after his birth when they realized the potential he could bring the Hale land and city over all. You could even say he’s already married to Peter, and now it’s just a matter of showing off to all supernatural and non that new tidings and change were coming. Realistically, he also knows he should’ve shown signs of powers years ago. That’s what the whole point of the damn engagement was for at least.

He often wonders why Peter was chosen, and not say, Cora, or even Laura. Derek already had a mate, so that was a no go. And besides, Stiles liked Paige. She was hip, and liked Stiles from the get-go. He guesses a younger Peter at the time didn’t have anyone, and as Talia’s second and now newly (by a year or so) turned Alpha, he’d have to start building his own pack anyway.

Of course, back then they hadn’t known he wasn’t a girl. Born Genma, Genim Stilinski quickly showed everyone that he wasn’t just what was written on his birth certificate. His mother had been around at the time, and at the age of seven he started to become who he saw in the mirror today. Tall and lanky, pale with speckles of moles and bright amber eyes currently looking sullen, he truly was happy with how things turned out on this end at least. He didn’t let himself feel bad for letting the Hales pay for his top surgery either.

The one thing that’s kept him completely denying this union happening between him and Peter is all because of one memory. It was when he was coming out publicly for the first time at fourteen. Scarred and young, he feared what the Hales would do knowing that the terms of the agreement had changed some. Talia, amazing as she was, happily explained that the meaning of the union didn’t necessarily have to be sexual. All it was was just a binding of an Alpha’s power and a mages (which he supposedly was).

But it was Peter’s reaction that made Stiles stick with this whole mess. Sitting beside Talia, quiet as ever, older and in college now, looked at Stiles with soft eyes and an understanding nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Genim.” He’d said, the look foreign but welcome to a nervous Stiles. Of course, then he’d turned to his sister, all suave and snark. “Was that all? I left a pizza in the oven and I would like to get back before it burns.” Even if Peter didn’t want this marriage, he was at least kind enough to acknowledge who Stiles really was, and thus never brought it up as an issue.

Stiles is also glad they amended the wording to the contract, and so doing making sure no one outside of the Hales and Stilinksi’s (And McCall’s of course) knew. Wasn’t their business anyway, he always tells himself.

Back in the present now, he runs his fingers through his hair one last time, gathering his courage so he wouldn’t embarrass himself out there. It’s _now or never,_ he thinks.

AS he’s turning to leave, there’s a small sound at the window behind him. He sees a shadow in the corner of his eye and jump out of reflex. He’s not quick enough in looking though, and suddenly he feels a flash of pain at his temple before crumpling to the ground.

“Sorry to ruin your big day, little mage. But looks like you’ve got somewhere else to be.” The figure says, all dark and mocking. Stiles heart races as he turns onto his back to shift away.

He barely has enough time to take in his attacker, whose tall and broad, with very evident glowing blue eyes. The man’s raising his arm again, and Stiles can’t move fast enough out of the way.

“What—“

 _Well, shit_ is the last thing he thinks before everything goes black.


	2. A conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some truths are learned, the villain is revealed (So early? wow!), and talks of Sparks ignite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this all makes sense! Finally getting the flow going for the story, I was kinda worried at first.
> 
> Just wanna shout out there are, like, a ton of great Steter fics that I'm basing this off of (the whole Stiles and Peter bonding in captivity thing), and that you should totally go check them out. Can't think of titles or authors off the top of my head, but those stories are probs waaay better than this one.

Stiles comes to with a groan, the pain at his temple making itself known almost immediately.

He tries to open his eyes, but it comes slowly due to feeling dizzy—but at least he’s not nauseous.

“Finally waking up, huh? Sure took your time.”

The voice makes him jump, eyes widening and trying to take in his surroundings in the dark…room? He can just barely make out a wall in front of him, and only because there’s an outline to a door and a small window emitting soft light. It also helps him to see who spoke.

“W-what?...Peter?” he says eloquently.

“The one and only.” The man replies, leaning back against the wall across from Stiles. The way he says it, all nonchalant and relaxed irks Stiles into glaring at Peter.

“What the hell? What happened? Where are we?” he asks, not quite sure what to make of the situation. “And how did you get here?” he adds on in afterthought.

“Ah. All very good questions.” Peter says. “I’m assuming these will answer a lot of them.” The sound of chains clinking in the dark startles Stiles, but his vision has focused enough to see the outline of Peter and his wrists as he holds them out. He doesn’t need to wonder hard; Those are some heavy duty metal cuffs adorned around Peter’s wrists.

 _Jeezus_ , Stiles thinks. Whoever took them certainly aren’t taking any chances.

“Is it, ya know…Wolf-proofed?” he wonders.

“Of course it is, Stiles.” Peter responds with a tired sigh.

Stile’s brows furrow, a little pissed off that Peter’s being an ass. This is the most he’s spoken to the man in one sitting and already he feels like he’s being looked down on—it’s like he’s a completely different person from what Stiles knows of him.

Stiles huffs, confused and upset at the entire situation.

“Well they didn’t chain me up so how was I supposed to know?” he comments, taking the time to look away from Peter’s form and survey the room. Yupp, still nothing.

They’re silent for a couple minutes, and Stiles tries to ignore how awkward it feels (and forced) while attempting to think up reasons why they’re here and locked up in a dark room with only Peter chained. Surely he could be a threat too?

His kidnapper was a wolf though….so maybe not.

But against humans he knows a trick or two.

“I’m….sorry. I don’t mean to be so curt to you. I feel very— _on_ _edge_.” Peter says quietly, voice soft.

Surprised by the break in silence, Stiles turns back to the older man, heart squeezing. Cause, yeah, he could understand that.

“It’s alright. Can I ask…how they got you?” he tries for, hoping now they can have a cordial conversation (even considering the situation). Maybe even grasp how this all happened in the process.

Peter releases a put-upon sigh, but Stiles can tell the man’s calmed down some. As much as either of them can.

“I was alone, much like I image you were. They were waiting for us. Another Alpha broke in through my window.”

Surprised, Stiles cuts in to ask: “How did that not make noise? There were like half a dozen or more Supernaturals at our—umm, wedding…” Stiles end on, face going a little red.

Well now it feels awkward again. Peter must not think so, because he goes on after Stiles’ voice fades out.

“Threatened to take you without me.” was all he said.

Well crap.

They really were in this mess because of him.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles says, a near whisper as he sinks further against the cold wall, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Peter could probably easily see Stiles withdrawing, and Stiles could hear him shuffle a little closer, but still nowhere near touching.

“Nohting you could really do about it, dear. Don’t let it eat you up. Figured your father would kill me for letting you be taken all on your own.” He says, attempting to lighten the mood. It works, mostly. Stiles ends up chuckling weakly.

“Hah, yeah, you bet.” After another moment, he adds as sincerely as he can, “Thank you, Peter. For not leaving me alone…”

Instead of replying the man just huffs, settling back once more. But Stiles can’t let it go, he has so many questions and so many worries flitting through his ADHD riddled brain.

What ever happened at the wedding? His father and nearly everyone else has to be aware that him and Peter are missing by now. Speaking of…

“Hey, Peter? How long have we been here?”

The man takes a moment to ponder before replying. “It’s hard to tell. They’ve moved us twice now—started in a van, got moved to another, now—well you see where we are now.”

“Oh, wow.” Stiles is shocked. “I didn’t realize I was out that long…geez.”

“Got hit pretty hard there, didn’t you?” Peter laments. Stiles tries not to feel bad about it, since, hello, it’s not like he chose to be human and knocked out by a fricking werewolf. He says as much to Peter.

“Hey, not like I could stop it from happening! They had a werewolf get me too, and he didn’t hold back any punches.” The bruise at his temple was testament to that.

“Heathens, the lot of them.” Is all Peter says. Stiles can’t help but laugh at that. Pretty spot on there.

But in all seriousness…

“Why do you think they took us? I mean, I get the whole, you’re an Alpha and I’m ‘supposedly’ magical. But plenty of people are. I don’t see why they targeted us, and even in the middle of the day! Surrounded by the toughest names around town! Surely they didn’t think this through, otherwise they would’ve—“

“Stiles!” Peter cuts in, and Stiles is stopped from his running thoughts flooding out, teeth clicking closed. “Calm down. You seem to forget I know about as much as you.”

“Right, sorry…no brain to mouth filter without my Adderall…Which you already knew. Umm.”

“It’s fine, Stiles.” Peter says, his voice sounding…comforting?...for the first time yet. “We’ll figure this out. They’re bound to come check on us soon. I’d imagine this has exactly to do with everything you’ve said. Including ransom, or something along the lines of an ‘exchange of power’ possibly. We were meant to become the Nemetons’ next caretakers, after all.”

Stiles takes a moment to calm down, thinking it over. Peter’s probably right. Their wedding _was_ a pretty big deal, and any baddies around wouldn’t want to miss the chance to steal that kind of power right from under the people of Beacon Hills’ noses.

Peter shifts again, seeming to settle in now that Stiles had relaxed some, and in turn it makes his chains clink.

“If they do come back, I could—”

“No.” Peter cuts in, voice hard again.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!” Stiles argues, piqued.

“Yes, I do. And it was going to be stupid. You don’t have your magic Stiles, and I’m chained up. So you’re going to play good prisoner until we figure a way out of this so you don’t give them another reason to give you more bruises.” To the point and matter-of-fact, Peter sends Stiles a hard look through the dark, one that Stiles can just _feel_. He thinks about arguing that point too, that he’s not weak and he can help, but in the end he knows Peter’s right. He’d be no match if they send in a wolf to do…whatever…to them.

“Fine. But if there’s a chance I can get us out of here, I’m taking it.”

“You do that, sweetheart.” Is all Peter says, not mocking but not quite nice. Stiles could punch the guy if he knew it wouldn’t just hurt his hand.

The waiting is the worst part of it all, because it’s not like the two of them have a lot to talk about. Stiles tries not to let that get to him, seeing as the other man is his friggin fiancé, but it hurts to think the man doesn’t trust him to be able to help.

Well then, he’ll just have to show him, huh?

000000

Peter never meant to come off as such an uncaring asshole.

But there’s only so much he could do to help it when it was so ingrained in his personality in order to keep his head about him. He was always the one tasked to do the dirty deeds, after all. A clear head was required to be the Second of such a prominent pack like the Hales.

And now that he’s an Alpha, he has something much more important to protect.

He would never say it out loud though, too jaded to admit to something like _feelings_.

But the human across from him was making his inner wolf on edge. The smell of pain and blood close to the skin made it growl in anger at the ones who caused it, while the boys anxiety made him eager to coddle. Which, Peter _doesn’t_ do.

Probably shouldn’t call him ‘boy’, seeing as that was his twenty one year old fiancé over there. But now wasn’t the time to be sentimental about such things. They had to get out of here before whatever plans were made for them came to fruition. He’d been taken by surprise when his room window had been opened, the culprit walking in calm as ever to announce that if Peter didn’t come along quietly, ‘Poor Stiles’ would be waking up alone.

Peter surprised even himself with how much he wanted to rip the other wolfs’ throat out right then and there. But he owed it to everyone who cared about the young man to keep him safe.

Peter knows that he’s been a terrible partner these past few years. He can admit that. How he’d avoid the child as he grew up, afraid to taint something so…pure. Before he knew it the date of the wedding had come, and he’d never gotten the chance to change things.

Well, they were definitely getting one-on-one time _now_.

The thought makes him want to both laugh and cry. He…did care for the young thing across from, trying too hard to appear unaffected and unharmed. But Peter knew better, he was hard to fool from years of being an observer and infiltrator. Stiles was scared and hurting, but at least he was holding it together. Peter could commend that. When they got out of here, he’d be sure to tell his father how proud he should be.

But he didn’t know when that time would come, and thus could only sit and wait, trying to listen through steel walls ineffectively. The trips in the vans had been rather long and twisting, very likely they’ve been taken out of Beacon Hills. The thought unsettles him and his wolf, but he has to keep his own emotions in check lest he scare Stiles or tip off their captors. He’d be damned if he let them take Stiles somewhere else, so for now he planned on cooperating.

There was a rustle of clothes as Stiles shifted across from him, the smell of anxiety on top of his normal scent of cinnamon and rain filling the empty space of the room. Peter could easily see through the low light, how Stiles was huddled for warmth on the far end of the wall from him. His suit was ruffled and scuffed in places from the floor, and his tie hung loose around his neck. Peter knew he probably looked the same, though maybe a little more put-together. The bruise on the side of Stiles’ temple was enough evidence of how they could be expected to be treated here. He held back a rumbling growl at the thought.

He shifted himself, always aware of the thick metal manacles around his sturdy wrists. They were laced with mountain ash, no doubt: both dampening and nullifying his various abilities as a werewolf. And making it so breaking them was a near impossibility.

He knew that in the end, he would do all that he could to keep Stiles safe. Whether they got along or not, he still had that obligation, and would see it out to the end.

000000

They were left waiting for what Stiles assumes is more than two hours.

It was the worst, seeing as Peter didn’t seem to be the most talkative. But how could Stiles blame him when they were stuck in a dark cold room and Peter was chained up? Some chat still would’ve been nice, but Stiles made do with daydreaming up scenarios where he could take out whoever steps through the doors, grab the keys to Peter’s chains and then they’d both make a break for it.

He knew, realistically, it probably wouldn’t work out that way. But one could dream.

And when the door finally did open, a loud creak of metal hinges that made Peter flinch, the light from the hallway was nearly blinding. Stiles watched as two figures stepped through the doorway, casting shadows back into the room.

“Alrighty, boys. Listen here and listen well.” The man furthest to Stiles says, a deep southern drawl evident. “We’re gonna go a on little walk and have a chat with the boss to explain how things are gonna go from here on out. And you’re gonna come along quietly, else the squishy one ‘ere’s gonna have a few more bruises.”

The man is looking at Peter when he says this, and oh shit, those are very red Alpha eyes. Peters own eyes flash in reflex, but he merely grunts and nods. The southern-voiced Alpha goes towards Peter while the second figure steps over to Stiles. He notes almost immediately that it’s the same douche who knocked him out in the first place. The man is older, fairly plain looking with short cropped hair and all muscle. But what worries Stiles are the blue-lit eyes and the lecherous smile of fangs facing him. Stiles can’t find it in him to suppress a shudder.

“Hey there, magey. C’mon, up we go.” He says, mocking, as he grabs Stiles by the upper arm to haul him out of the room. With a clank of metal, Peter is released and made to follow. His eyes never stray from Stiles, though the other can’t see it, and he’s quiet as they’re led to ‘the boss’. The other Alpha is last in their line, all business.

After a few turns and multiple eerily empty hallways they reach a big set of doors, guarded by a single man holding a rifle and decked in leather.

 _How cliché are these guys?_ Stiles wonders to himself. They easily put Derek to shame in all that black.

The guard, upon seeing them being led, moves aside and pulls one of the heavy doors open for them. Inside is every typical mafia boss setup Stiles has ever seen, both in movies and his Dads crime files.

A single big room, sparse of personal effects with a long couch to the side and a polished oak desk dead center. They’re led to stand at the edge of a dark green rug, Peter stiff next to him as their captors go to stand behind them at a distance. He doesn’t fail to notice more guards standing behind the desk either.

Stiles’ heart beats a little faster as the chair at the desk swirls around to face them. Then it stops.

“Dude! It’s you!” he blurts, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Hmphf. Good to see Jake didn’t knock any of your memories loose.” Gerard Argent says.

Gerard. Argent. Gerard _Fucking_ Argent, Stiles brain supplies.

“How?? You were at the wedding!” he asks, rather dumbly.

Peter is quiet beside him, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Gerard. How is it that you’re here? And not…Helping with the search I assume is going on back home.” He asks, voice cold and slightly demanding.

Gerard, a rather old and un-suspecting looking grandfather to one Allison Argent, Stiles’ friend and Scott’s long-time crush, smiles. It’s all _wrong_ and makes Stiles stomach clench.

“Well, I guess pleasantries aren’t a thing anymore. But I’ll let it pass. I’m sure the journey has been rather rough on you both. As for your questions…what the family doesn’t know won’t hurt them. You see,” he’s saying, and yup, Stiles is one hundred percent sure they’re about to hear the typical ‘bad guy’ monologue, but if it helps to answer their questions, he’ll shut up. For now. “I’ve been planning this for quite a while. The new Alpha of Beacon Hills, also the Second to Talia Hale herself, protectors of the land for centuries now. Quite a catch you are, Peter Hale.” Gerard says, before swiveling his dark and beady eyes onto Stiles.

“And Stiles Stilinski, the Alphas intended and supposed new Watcher of the Nemeton. With a father who has many ties within the community as well, I must say. I’m sure you can see then why you’re both here.”

Stiles is stunned in silence, not sure what to make of this, his mind running a mile a minute. Peter doesn’t seem to have such a problem, as his voice breaking through Stiles’ inner turmoil.

“I really don’t, _Gerard_. What exactly do you get by kidnapping us? Is this a ransom deal? You know that’ll never go over well, and whatever you seem to be running here will be destroyed by my Pack and all of Beacons authorities.”

Instead of being cowed or threatened, Gerard just laughs, loud and boisterous.

“Hah, Peter my boy. You seem to forget who I am.” He starts, all cocky and sure. Peter growls and Stiles assumes it’s due to being called a boy. “I’ve been doing this kinda stuff under the Hale packs noses for years. I’m a hunter, remember? People like you….you’re worth more than a measly ransom number. No, what I get from this will be much better. I’m sure you know what I want. Just think about it.” He says.

Stiles has been, and now that it’s in his head, he can’t get it out. Gerard Argent—longtime head of the resident hunters of Beacon Hills, about to age out and be proceeded by Chris and a daughter who Stiles has never met. People in his position usually on want one thing.

The answer is clear as day by the dark look on the old man’s face.

“The Nemeton.” Stiles whispers, going cold all over.

Gerard beams at him, all white teeth and cheeriness. “Spot on, my boy. That’s what you both have in common, isn’t it? The Nemeton, and a way to access its power. That… _That’s_ what I want.”

Peter is stock still against him, a persistent low growl emitting into the air. The two men behind them step a little closer in warning.

“You’re obviously not as smart as you seem, _Argent_. Stiles and I aren’t connected to the Nemeton yet, seeing as you interrupted before the ceremony could take place.” Peter states. And yeah, Stiles realizes that’s true. A spark of hope grows at the thought, thinking now that Gerard knows that he’ll have to let them go. Because they’re no use to him now…right?

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Wolf. You beasts and you mages are always connected to the Nemetons power. It’s in your blood from birth. It’s just a matter of, shall we say, finding the right trigger to getting the connection to show itself.” He says. And fuck is that ominous or what.

Stiles shudders, thoughts racing for anything to latch onto. He says the first one that clicks.

“But I’m not magical. I haven’t used magic once in my life. So it wouldn’t work.” He says, a little desperate.

Gerard seems to contemplate, staring hard at Stiles. It makes his skin crawl, but also makes Peter take a small step towards Stiles. The unintended comfort is nice.

“I wondered about that, you see. Did some research, or a lot in fact, and found some nice clues in the family Bestiary. It’s old and questionable, but there’s a story I read. One about Sparks being late bloomers.”

A Spark? Stiles has no idea what the old man is talking about, but Peter seems to because he steps forward a little. That makes the Alpha growl warningly behind them, but Peter ignores it.

“You’re wrong. Stiles isn’t a Spark. We would know, having half raised him.” Peter’s so sure in the way that he says it that Stiles feels himself calming some. Maybe Gerard did mess up, and they’ll be getting out of here soon after all.

But the words don’t seem to deter Gerard at all. He just smiles again, a little less manic this time but still satisfied and creepy.

“There are ways of testing that theory, Mr. Hale. And I plan to, oh I do.”

This makes Peter react. Stiles jumps when Peter attempts to lunge at Gerard from over the desk, but he’s tackled from behind by the other Alpha. Stiles is forced to move aside as the two fight, all claw and teeth and growls. It looks like Peter’s winning, but it’s brought to an end when Stiles feels himself grabbed from behind, a muscled arm wrapping around his arms and torso, and the other hand coming to his throat, claws pricking red dots into the pale skin there.

“I’d watch it Hale, unless you want Stiles here to end up a few gallons short of blood. He’ll live, but it wouldn’t be wise to risk it, now would it?” Gerard says calmly, still seated at his desk chair and even sitting back, a look of boredom on his face. Stiles has half a mind to punch him himself if he could. But the claws at his throat are warning enough, so he holds rock still, heart pounding a mile a minute as sweat beads at his temples.

The words make Peter pull away from his opponent, both bloodied and clothes ripped, but healing and barely breathing hard. He lowers his hands, claws retracting and eyes fading back into their light blue color with a flicker.

He’s silent but seething. Stiles only feels a little bit envious of his control. He feels about to break.

“Take them back to their cell. We’ll start on the fun tomorrow.” Gerard says, a clear dismissal. Stiles is led away first, more confused and scared than when they first woke up, hand now on the back of his neck but still imposing as Peter follows behind and the stranger Alpha after that.

Stiles just barely thinks to memorize the direction, lest they need it in the future.

Four left turns and one right later, they’re back at their ‘cell’, the heavy metal door swung open and Stiles finds himself being pushed in harshly, nearly running into the far wall and just barley catching himself. As soon as Peter is inside both Wolves have him chained up once more with some light growling and glowing eyes, the door is slammed shut once they’re outside, the unmistakable sound of a bolt locking back in place. It feels deafening.

At least there’s a light left on for them this time it seems.

“Well. That was informative.” Stiles says numbly after a few silent seconds have passed. Peter just huffs, coming to lean back against the wall he’s chained to with arms crossed.

“You think so?” he asks, a bit of sarcasm coming out. Stiles tries not to be offended. He’s got too many questions for that right now.

“What’s a Spark?” he asks almost immediately.

Peter just sighs, rubbing his face like he’s the one who’s tired of it all. Stiles is pretty tired too, but you don’t see him complaining. Yet.

“Something that you aren’t, and let’s leave it at that.”

And, what? No, Stiles won’t take that as an answer.

“Hey! You don’t know that! Just because I haven’t had magic doesn’t mean I’m not _something_ —“

“Stiles.” Peter cuts him off. He stands up, walking over to Stiles in quick strides. On instinct Stiles jumps, nearly falling backwards but holds himself in check, chin high and eyes burning.

Peter comes to stop inches away from him, bending so his mouth is warm against his ear. Stiles barely suppresses a shudder here, cheek reddening.

“No matter what you may be, I’d suggest us keeping quiet about it. We’re most likely being monitored and I’d rather not have them aware that, yes, you may in fact be a Spark.” Peters’ voice is low and soft, making Stiles think all sorts of things that he shouldn’t be in this setting. But then the words click, and he turns a little to face Peter, so close. (Stop fluttering so much, heart.)

“Really?” he whispers back, and in place of answering Peter just nods once, his eyes straying just a bit too long on Stiles face, before he pulls back to return to ‘his’ wall.

Stiles takes a moment to breath, letting it all sink in. he goes back to his own spot, slinking down to the hard floor.

“Well then,” he says, loud and clear, “since I’m clearly not a Spark, can you at least tell me what they are?” If Peter thinks he can’t play along, then that’s on him. But fuck, he still want’s and deserves to know what he might just possibly be, seeing as Gerard has something planned for them to find out.

He tries not to think about that.

Peter sighs, clearly smart enough to tell when he’s lost. Stiles is good at getting things out of people, either by talking their ears off, or just being aware of conversations going on around him. As it’s only the two of them, he’ll just have to improvise.

“I mean, it’s the least I deserve, right? They’re probably thinking up all sorts of experiments for me for tomorrow. You don’t want me to go in unprepared right?” he asks, all innocent.

At this, Peter actually growls a little, and Stiles can’t tell if it’s because of him, or because of the supposed impending torture ahead.

“Fine. I’ll tell you, but know that even I don’t know all that much about them. Deaton would be the one to know, and even then the old coot never says anything straight.” He says.

Stiles laughs a little. “Hah, yeah. You’re right about that my dude.”

Peter gives a small smile too, even though he’s trying to be tough. “Don’t call me _Dude_. I’m you’re fiancé, not Scott.” Stiles knows Peter’s trying to lighten the mood, but the reminder makes him both embarrassed for the slip-up and the reminder of Scott and _home_.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, hand coming up to rub his nose in a nervous tick. Peter sighs, trying to loosen up on the young man, and finally gives Stiles some answers.

“Sparks are…complicated. There hasn’t been one recorded in Beacon Hills since the fifteen hundreds, perhaps even longer. They’re rare and hard to come by, much less birth one. Strong magical beings, closely connected to the earth and nature, like the Nemeton, but highly untrained when young and thus dangerous. Most don’t seem to come into their power well into their later years, from what we do know.” Peter starts. Is that what Gerard found too? It would explain why he thinks Stiles might be a Spark, and why Peter isn’t quite sure either. “Once they are grown, that’s a whole new story.” He continues, getting this odd look in his eyes. “Said to be so powerful, they can create anything just by _believing_ they can. Because of that, it’s needed for them to share a bond with another to even be able handle it.”

The words make Stiles heart jump. They were really that strong? Does that mean that he could someday….

No, he can’t go there. Even if he _is_ a Spark, they can’t let Gerard know. Him having that much power seems like a terrible catastrophe just waiting to happen.

Then a new thought pops up.

“Wait, a bond, like as in what we were going to do?” he asks Peter, unsure.

The older man doesn’t answer right away, seeming to hesitate, but after a moment must decide to be truthful.

“I suppose you should know.” he says slowly. Stiles raises an eyebrow, _Go onnn_ clearly written across his face. “I guess you could say it is similar to what would’ve come of the wedding ceremony, the combining of life auras and all that. Our very essence, or powers. But…we’ve…Damnit. Just, give me a moment.” Peter is visibly struggling, shifting in his spot from foot to foot, handsome face pinched in thought.

“Hey, spit it out. Not like anyone’s around to judge you. Well, except me, but really, I’m in no place to. Look where we are!” Stiles tries to come across as patient, but it’s never been his strong suit.

Peter looks at him, blue eyes debating something internally, before coming to a decision.

“We’ve…always had a bond, Stiles. It’s why I was chosen to be your partner, and no one else.”

_What?_

“What??” is all he can say.

Peters sighs deeply, seeming put-upon.

“It’s not one in your typical sense. Without your magical abilities being…active, you wouldn’t be able to feel it. I on the other hand…I’ve always felt it.”

‘I’ve always felt it.’

Said so quietly, like it’s a secret he’s had to hold in for far too long.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, trying to understand.

“I felt it almost immediately, the moment you were born, when the Nemeton shifted and its power fluxed, I knew a bond had taken place with someone. I didn’t know with who until Claudia brought you over, shortly after your birth.”

A lot of things finally made sense to Stiles.

“Is that why you’ve always avoided me?” because yeah, that would explain it if Stiles was getting this right.

Peter grunts, not even looking at him anymore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve always been around you. You were a kid though, so how would you know.” Stiles imagines Peter’s trying to anger him, to get him to change the subject. _Oh no you don’t._

Stiles is smiling, just a little bit smug.

“No, Peter. You totally were. You’ve always avoided me. Is this why? Because you felt bad for imprinting on a new born? What, did you think I would hate you for it? Geezus!” Stiles huffs out, arms flailing. “We’ve been bonded this whole time and I didn’t even know!”

Strangely, this seems to upset Peter into turning around, finally facing Stiles again.

“No we’re not! You were a child Stiles! Still are in all but age!” Here, Peter ignores Stiles shouted indignant ‘Hey!’. “I never told you because you deserved to have options, time to grow and experiment. But our families intervened and went with the whole betrothal as soon as they found out. I was too young to stop it, and now look where we are!”

Stiles can honestly say this is the most emotional he’s ever seen Peter, aside from the earlier anger. It all makes so much sense now, why Peter was chosen, why his family still seems to think he’s magical, and why now Gerard thinks he can steal that power from them. If the old man knew they had a bond was still up in the air. But then another thought crosses Stiles mind and it sobers up his light joy.

“Do you…not wanna be married to me, Peter?” he asks out, unable to help the slight dejection that enters his voice.

When Peter doesn’t answer, Stiles slumps down further, rubbing at his nose.

“I mean, I guess I get it. Being engaged to a toddler for most your young life, forced to put up with monthly visits and pushy parents and family.” He chuckles here, a little self-depreciatingly. “Then I go and change genders on you, and fuck, you’re probably not even gay are you? I mean, this is who I am and I won’t and can’t change that, but I get it. You could do a lot better than a Trans, spazzy and nerdy magic-less mage who got us kidnapped.” The words rush forth, the proverbial floodgates open now that the secrets are out. Before he can keep going on with his list of negatives (which is miles more long, really), Peter cuts him off.

“Of course I want to be married to you, Stiles. I agreed to it, didn’t I? Yeah, your age may have bothered me at first, but even you know how mature you are. Magical or not, our bond still exists, and being around you helps…it helps settle me. I just didn’t want to push my needs onto your young and impressionable mind.” At that, Peter kneels down, eyes leveling with Stiles’ amber ones. “Guess that didn’t matter, ‘cause you ended up being just as sarcastic and snarky as me.” His lopsided grin makes Stiles heart flutter again, his nerves settling at the admissions and truthfulness. He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to see it.

Stiles sniffles, not even realizing he’d been so close to crying. He blames it on all that’s happened, and not crazy hormones and emotions. He’ll deal with those later, thank you very much.

“Ok, Peter. Thank you…for telling me the truth.”

“I imagine trying to deny it would just make being ‘stuck in a room together for who knows how long’ rather difficult.” Peter says.

“Pffft, yeah. Kinda.”

After that, a companionable silence falls over the room now that most the important stuff has been said. Well, almost.

“So. Gerard Argent, huh? Who would’ve guessed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to suggestions and tips! Thanks for reading, see ya next chapter fellow Steter fans <3


	3. By Any Means

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles struggle through their first day of separation and 'torture'. Some questions are answered, more are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chap is when the tough times come. Not that this chap isn't tough on our boys, *insert evil laugh here*.  
> Enjoy! Feedback welcome, and hope to see you next time.

It became quickly evident that their captors weren’t the most hospitable.

For one, they didn’t have a fucking toilet.

And Stiles really, really had to piss. How embarrassing was that? None of the big movies or novels ever brought up pissing and such in them, almost like the action doesn’t exist. Well, it really fucking does.

Stiles is pacing the small room from wall-to-wall, across from where Peter is lounging on his back, arms behind his head. The walking only helps so much at this point, and he’s pretty sure Peter knows why he’s so on edge. He doubts the wolf would seem so relaxed if _he_ had to pee.

Another ten minutes passes.

How long has it been since they were dropped off in here after meeting with Mr. Old-and-Creepy? By now both of them have shed their vests and ties, Peter using his as a pillow, whereas Stiles flung his to the corner of the room. Sleeves rolled up and shirts untucked only went so far in relaxing them, Stiles realizes.

Another five minutes.

It was near painful now, trying to hold it in. He’s so consumed in his inner turmoil on how to handle this that Peters’ words seem to come out of nowhere.

“Just bang on the door, Stiles. I highly doubt they want their prisoners soiling themselves.”

Stiles furrows his brows.

“Easy for you to say. One of our captors doesn’t give _you_ the ‘bad touch’ vibes and stink-eye.”

Instead of answering, like a normal person, Peter just grunts and closes his eyes—Presumably done with the topic. Stiles just rolls his eyes and resumes his pacing.

Five minutes pass, again.

This time, Stiles is halted by Peter hauling himself up, with a deep sigh and everything, as he goes to the big metal door, chains dragging behind him. He can just barely reach the door with them.

He bangs hard on it three times.

“Hey! Mind letting your prisoners relieve themselves? I can tell you now, if you thought dog piss was hard to clean up then you’ll be surprised if you make us wait any longer.”

Peters’ words make Stiles turn red. “Peter!”

Peter just gives Stiles a hard look, clearly annoyed. “What? You think kind words and ‘Please’ will get them to listen? We’re prisoners, Stiles. I wouldn’t be half surprised if they meant to let us piss ourselves. Humiliation at its finest.”

Stiles hadn’t even thought of that. He’s not sure if he could handle that kind of embarrassment. It’s not like he’s been kidnapped before; He doesn’t know what the protocol is, though he’s read enough in his Dad’s files to know that no kidnapping is the same. Would this even be considered a kidnapping? Both Peter and him are over eighteen so…Mannapping? Adultnapping? No, what about—

Stiles is drawn from his pondering by the sound of the big door unlocking from the outside. Stiles is glad to see that when it does open, instead of the two wolves from before, it’s instead a woman and different man. The woman flashes what looks like a modified large rifle at them. The following process is both awkward and strained, but thankfully over rather quick as the two unchain Peter (They leave the manacles on, connecting his two wrists) and lead them out.

It’s just their luck that a room in the same hallway is the bathroom, and one at a time Peter and him are let in. Stiles rushes, not wanting to push their captors supposed generosity, and waits patiently when it’s Peters turn. The two guards are quiet through it all, sending hard stares whenever Stiles so much as shifts from foot to foot. He doesn’t even try to talk to them.

Before long, they’re back in their cell, Peter chained up once more and Stiles now sated. He goes to sit in his corner by his abandoned vest.

“Well, that was awkward.”

Peter just snorts, lying back down on his own clothes. “At least they let us go. Their hearts were calm the whole time, so perhaps they had just been waiting for us to ask.”

“How kind of them.” Stiles replies, eyes rolling again.

“Although, I had hoped to learn more of the layout…I have a feeling they made it so close on purpose. Cleaner than just leaving a bucket to piss in, too.” Peter adds on as if in afterthought.

Stiles shudders, face cringing. “Dude, there is no way I’m going to the _bathroom_ in front of anyone. Nope, no way.”

Not one to be offended, but more the offender, Peter just gets this smirk on his face when he turns to Stiles.

“Stiles, you do know you’ve grown up around werewolves right? And that you’re married to one? Trust me when I say we’ve already heard it all.”

At that, Stiles really does go red, gasping at the reminder, before groaning and putting his face in his hands.

“I’m just going to pretend that I don’t know that. At least let me fake some privacy.”

Peter laughs, _laughs_ _at_ _him_ (the jerk!) before replying. “Honestly, Stiles. We don’t have any privacy as it is right now.”

“ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Hey, you could be stuck with worse. At least your cell buddy is a handsome and kind Alpha werewolf like myself.” Peter says, all high and mighty.

“You? Kind? No offense Peter, but…” Stiles retorts, though he’s smiling a real smile for the first time in a while.

Peter is smiling too when he replies. “Kind to you, Stiles, yes. You should see me around others. Positively beastly.”

Stiles knows that Peter’s probably just trying to lighten the mood, but he can’t say he doesn’t appreciate it. And from what he saw Peter do earlier, going for Gerard almost immediately after he’d threatened Stiles, Stiles knows there’s a lot more to Peter than meets the eye. The wolf actually does seem to care, for as much as he tries to hide it.

000000

Many hours pass, with only the light chatter Stiles attempts to make in order to fill the silence. He blurts out plans as they come to him, all shot down by Peter one after the other.

“What if we jumped them when they opened the doors—“

“They’d see that coming a mile away, Stiles.”

“Then what about hiding _behind_ the door, so that when they step in—“

“The door swings out, dear.”

 “Well, I could play dead, and you could shout out for help. They’ll come in and –“

“No, Stiles.”

“Why not?!”

“Because that plan only works if you’re in a movie, sweetheart. Just trust me when I say it wouldn’t work. They’ve got werewolves too, remember?”

“Ughhh, frickin werewolves and their super hearing…”

After that, Stiles stuck to thinking of ideas in his head, debating on trying them on his own, with or without Peters help. That quickly proves to be just as dumb as playing dead, because he knows he’ll need Peters strength to get out.

“Hey, what if I took a look at your cuffs?” he says, after some time has passed and the lights have gone dim in the room (surprising them both when it happened).

“Hnn. You can try, but I’ve already looked them over.” Peter replies, removing his hands from under his head to hold them in the air, towards Stiles a bit.

Not one to be deterred, Stiles crawls over on his knees to plop down next to the older man. Without hesitation, he grabs the offered wrists into his own smaller hands.

The cuffs are as fortified as they appeared from a glance, thick manacles shining in the low light. Aside from the metal loop connecting the chain heavy chain, the only add-on is a key shaped hole—there wasn’t even a line or hinge on it! Just one big piece of smooth silver.

“How did this even go on?” he asks incredibly, eyes a little wide.

Peter peeks his eyes open to look up at Stiles. “The key makes the line appear when they open it. A bit of magic really, on top of the infused wolfs bane.”

Stiles takes that in, thinking it over.

“So claws don’t work to pick it right?” he asks, receiving a nod from the other man. “You said magic. What if I could…” Stiles trails off, unsure of his own line of thinking.

Peter is more aware now, eyes taking in Stiles falling face. He sits up slowly, leaning back against the wall and closer to Stiles in the process. Their legs are nearly touching, but neither of them move.

“Perhaps.” Peter says, giving a strange look to Stiles when he looks up, eager to know. “If you were in touch with your magic.”

And just like that, Stiles’ face crumbles and he releases Peters hands, huffing as he falls back against the same wall Peter is on. He pulls his knees up, arms wrapping around them. It makes him look younger than he really is, Peter notices.

“And of course, I don’t have that.” Is all Stiles says, him mind firing off all sorts of negatives.

If only he’d practiced harder. If only he’d listened to Deaton more, or started his training earlier, or not been born such a letdown then he—

“Hey. It’s not your fault.” Peter says, his shoulder rough but kind as he bumps it against the youngers. The action draws Stiles out of his downward spiral, as he wipes away the beginnings of frustrated tears.

“You don’t know that.” Stiles says, petulant.

Peter smiles at him, straight to the point and yet effective. “Trust me Stiles, you’re not the only one who struggles to grasp your magic. Many do. And being in this situation won’t be of any help. So as soon as we’re out of here, I’ll show you that you don’t need magic to accomplish big things.”

“If you didn’t know, magic is kinda used for everything these days, Peter. Even my dad uses enchanted cuffs at work!” Stiles huffs out.

“And when we get out, we’ll be showing Gerard that not even magic could stop us from tearing his ass apart.”

Stiles snorts embarrassingly into his knees but is smiling all the same. ‘Cause yeah, how ironic would that be? Stiles finally looks up, not caring that it brings their faces closer, and looks at Peter with a grateful look.

“Thanks, Peter. So, I guess we just…wait?”

“For as much as I hate it, that’s really all we can do.”

Rather than unsettle him, Stiles is comforted by the fact that at least he has Peter to wait with.

0000000

The waiting ended up being until the next morning. At least to Stiles’ best guess.

The small hope that maybe their families had found them was quick to fade, and when the door opened to the two male wolves from the first day, Stiles can’t help but push closer to Peter’s side.

“Rise and shine, pups.” The one with the southern accent says, all false cheer and friendliness.

Stiles isn’t the only one feeling off about this, as Peter is quick to stand, blocking Stiles’ view of the other two.

“Common curtesy tells hosts that they explain the days plans.” Peter says, with just as much faked cheer.

The blue-eyed one, that if Stiles remembers is named Jacob or something, growls behind Southern guy, attempting to step forward. But Southern guy just holds up his hand to him, a smile still on his bearded face.

“Figured y’all could use the restroom. Just come along boys, and that’s where we’ll go, no problems, yeah?”

Stiles stands behind Peter, sending him an unsure look. There was a bad gut feeling growing in his stomach that he didn’t like. Peter must’ve felt the same, but on the off chance they weren’t offered the bathroom again later, what could it hurt to go along with it for now? The hunger Stiles could deal with, needing the bathroom for an entire day? Not so much.

Peters’ thinking is along the same lines apparently, because he nods and holds his wrists out cooperatively. The same as yesterday happens—they’re led from their little cell down to the bathroom door, then allowed one at a time to go. The bathroom itself never had any options for helping them, as it only had a single toilet and sink with cement walls. The only thing good about it per-se is the privacy it gives. (Stiles refuses to think about their captors finding out about his being trans thing. A nightmare, is what it would be.)

It’s as they get back to their room when it changes. The two wolves stop just outside the doorway, the blue-eyed one, Jacob-whatever, reaching out like a snake at Stiles’ upper arm like the other day. His grip is hard, unbreakable against Stiles’ human strength.

“Hey!” Stiles shouts.

“Ah, I guess I did forget to mention one thing.” Southern guy says, a devious smile on his face.

Peter sees what’s happening almost immediately, his eyes going red and fangs dropping.

“Ah ah, Mr. Hale. We’ve got some things to do here. My friend Jacob here is just gonna take Stiles on his own little trip. Don’t worry, he’ll be back before long.”

Stiles’ heart races, eyes wide as he looks from Jacob to Peter. The tests.

How could Stiles forget about the tests?

“I don’t think so.” Peter all but growls out, claws popping out, as he attempts to step towards Stiles and his captor. But big Southern guy doesn’t let him, red eyes blazing as he tackles Peter back into the cell room.

 “Peter!” Stiles tries to make his own escape, but the grip on his arm is like a rock, and he can’t help but cry out as he’s yanked back, his view of Peter disappearing as the metal door closes, nothing but the sound of fighting and growling coming through.

“Hey, come on now. We really don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” Jacob is saying. Like hell! Stiles doesn’t want to leave Peter, but what choice does he have as he dragged along? His line of sight to the door is lost as they turn the corner, back towards the big room from yesterday.

“W-where are we going?” Stiles manages to get out, trying to calm his breathing.

Instead of answering, the wolf just tugs him harder, drawing him closer to the man in process. The creepy smiles don’t escape Stiles’ notice either.

This really isn’t looking so good.

He’s at least managed to calm himself enough to try and take in their surroundings: long empty hallways, three rights and two lefts then another right this time, past where they’d met with Gerard. The place seemed more and more like a maze every time Stiles saw it. And then finally, they’re there. A wooden door, unassuming and normal in every way. Jacob knocks on it before swinging the door open.

“Got you a delivery, Kate.” He says into the room.

The room itself isn’t very big, only taken up by a chair in the middle of the room and a long table off to the side where Stiles sees the back of a woman.

“Ah, good! The chair, please.” She says, voice soft and melodious. Stiles gulps silently as he’s led in and made to sit in the single chair with heavy hands on his shoulders.

Stiles holds in any complaints so far, but the hands don’t leave him, they just sit on his shoulders hot and heavy, squeezing a bit too hard. It feels possessive, and makes Stiles shudder.

The woman finally turns around from the table, eyes landing on the wolf above Stiles.

“You can leave us, Jacob. Thank you.” the words came out soft, but Stiles knew it was a command. Her whole personality came off as in charge, and he can’t stop himself from shrinking into the chair as she approaches.

Jacob huffs behind him before pulling away, a laugh in the air.

“Sure thing. I’ll be outside when you’re done, boss.”

He’s gone just as quickly as they came, apparently waiting outside the door. No escape route there, then.

But Stiles doesn’t have long to think or plan, because the woman is dragging a chair Stiles hadn’t noticed before to place in front of him.

“Hello, Stiles.” She says, sitting down in a relaxed fashion.

Stiles squirms a bit in his seat.

“Umm. I’d say hey back, but like. I have no idea who you are. And your lackey there kinda kidnapped me and my fiancé.”

Instead of getting angry or annoyed at this, she just laughs. It rings out into the room like bells. It feels oddly deceiving. Or maybe rightfully so.

“That’s alright, Stiles. We’ve never actually met before. But it was made that way on purpose, so no one’s at fault. My name is Kate. You already know my father, Gerard.”

“Holy shit.”

The fake cheer, the way she held herself so confidently. The dark look in her eyes, like she was ready to eat you alive.

Stiles could see the resemblance now.

“Wow. Ok. Does Chris know you’re here? Wait, is he in on this too? Will I be seeing _all_ of the Argents?”

He wants to get carried away with questions, but he reigns himself in. A little, at least.

“Naw. Big bro doesn’t really have the knack for what Dad and I do. And Ally’s too young still. So it’s just you and me, Hun. Well, and some ‘lackeys’, as you put it.” She says, even winking at the end.

Stiles just nods, not sure what to say. At least he learned who to look out for. _Chris and Allison: Safe. Gerard and Kate: Hell no._

Kate leans back into her chair before speaking next.

“Speaking of, I’m sure Dad told you what to expect in these coming days.”

When she doesn’t continue, Stiles clears his throat.

“I remember something distinctly resembling torture.”

“Hah! No, nothing so base as that Hun. What I’ve got going on is some simple tests. Sure, some won’t be any fun _for you_ , but they’ll tell us what we need to know to get at that magic hidden somewhere inside that cute little body of yours.” Stiles flushes at her words, both mortified and scared.

“Yeah, that sounds like torture to me lady.” He says, hands clenching at the arm rests of the chair.

Instead of being put off, Kate just laughs again, before getting up from the chair and going to the table. She Stiles watches with trepidation as she returns with a clipboard and a jar of something in hand.

She sits back down, apparently all business now.

“I’ve got some questions for you to answer first, Stiles, and I want you to be as honest as you can be. Think you can do that?” she asks, looking up from the clipboard on her lap.

Stiles scoffs, a little bit of courage igniting in him.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. You kidnapped us, remember? I won’t be answering anything, so you might as well take me back to Peter.” He says, a demanding tone to his voice.

_You don’t scare me_ , he hopes it sounds like.

“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong Hun. You see, I’ve got something that might just make you change your mind. You know that family of yours? Your dad, and all those wolves? I don’t think even he could save all of them from a burning house surrounded by mountain ash, do you?”

Stiles’ heart stops.

“No. You wouldn’t.” he whispers, disbelieving.

“You said it yourself, Stiles. You don’t know me, and thus, you don’t know what I’ll do to get what I want from you.” she leans forward as she says this, eyes cruel and voice low.

She’s right. He can’t know for sure or not if she’d actually murder an entire family just to get answers, but he really doesn’t want to risk it. It’s just questions, right? What could they possibly learn from him that would hurt anyone?

He swallows hard, before nodding once. “Fine, I’ll bite. But promise me you won’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh honey, I won’t need to as long as you cooperate. Now, let’s get started shall we?”

What proceeded next was the most awkward twenty questions Stiles has ever been a part of. Granted, it was like fifty questions or more, but the idea was still the same. Most of them seemed like basic questions, while others were more…personal.

“Have you ever felt a spike of power while with someone? I won’t judge if it wasn’t with your, ehem, fiancé.”

“Um, no? I don’t even know what you mean.” He says, face cringing at the implications.

“Sex, Hun. Honestly, you’re not young enough to know that magic can come about in different ways. Practice isn’t the only one.” She says with a wink. Stiles shudders and just shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t.”

“How sweet.” She remarks, scratching something onto the clipboard paper. He can’t see what’s on it from here.

The list of questions went on, asking things like ‘have you ever tried drugs to open the doorways to your magic’, or ‘What has Deaton taught you so far in your lessons’. That one he feels guilty about sharing, seeing as the man is rather secretive by nature, and telling Kate about their private lessons makes his skin crawl. He exaggerates the best he can without going overboard, because Kate is smart, and he knows he can only lie to her so much without getting caught.

What feels like an hour later, Kate taps her pencil against the paper.

“Well, that answers a lot. Thank you for cooperating, Stiles. There is one more thing I want to try, before going onto the more drastic steps for the coming days.” She doesn’t give him much time to reply, setting the clipboard onto her chair as she gets up, grabbing the jar that’s been laid at her feet the whole time.

He can’t help but cower a bit as she steps up him. This close, he sees how tall she is, how imposing. There’s definitely some muscle on her arms that Stiles might’ve found hot if she wasn’t clearly a psychopath.

“I’m going to need you to drink some of this. It won’t taste very good, but it has an important purpose.”

He eyes the jar critically. “Umm, am I allowed to ask what’s in it? Cause it looks pretty grody to me, and I’d honestly rather not. My dad always taught me not to take stuff from strangers—“

“Stiles. You’ll drink this, or you won’t _have_ a dad to tell it about.”

Sweat beading at his temples, Stiles nods weakly. He reaches out, his hand shaking a bit. The jar feels heavy, and when he twists it open a strong smell of wet soil and onions breaks free. Not pungent, but not pleasant either.

“Wh-what’s so important about it?” he asks, trying to stall for as long as he can. Wouldn’t hurt to know what he’s drinking either.

“Ah, something I made myself. A concoction meant to target out any magical abilities. We’ll know if it works or not right away. Or really, if your magic reacts to it.”

And, ok. He could actually get behind that. Drink it, get magic, blow the place to bits and get Peter and himself the hell out of here.

So with another nod and the shaking of his hands, he brings the jar up and takes a drink.

The taste is bland, wet and grainy. It goes down easily, and Stiles is only a little bit grateful for that. After a few sips, he brings the jar down, wiping his mouth with back of his free hand. He puts the lid back on, jutting the jar back out to Kate.

“There, I did it. Now what?”

Kate smiles, taking the jar back and bringing it back to the table along with the clipboard.

“Thank you, dear. And don’t worry, we’ll know in about…3…2…”

The ‘1’ is lost behind the sounds of Stiles gagging. It’s so sudden and intense that at first Stiles doesn’t notice his body going taut as steel. Then it _does_ hit him, and he tumbles from the chair onto his knees retching. His stomach heaves and tightens, far worse than any other time he’s gotten sick. The ground sways under him in waves, and he struggles to keep himself up on his hands and knees.

His body shakes and he’s scared.

What the fuck did he just drink?! Muscles he didn’t know he had are spasming, making his body jerk almost like in seizure. His head is pounding and tears fall onto the floor one after the other.

“Oh gooodd….” He groans out.

He can barely hear as Kate steps up to him, silent and calm.

“Such a shame. I really thought this one would work. Perhaps if I use ginseng next time…”

Stile retches strongly once more, turning to glare up at Kates form.

“Like…fucking…hell…I’ll drink….mor—“

He’s cut off by his own body, a lance of pain shooting down his spine and finally pulling him over the edge. Sludge comes up from his throat and onto the floor, loud and gross to his own ears. All he’s had to eat for nearly two days was that liquid, and now he wonders if that was intentional.

But Kate seems clearly upset that this one didn’t work, and Stiles is sick enough to agree.

Fuck, his whole body was hurting and he couldn’t stop throwing up. On and on it went, past the point of there being nothing _to_ throw up. Everything ached and he was openly crying.

The pile of puke was weirdly black, and some of it was speckling his hands and arms. He’d be grossed out, if he wasn’t about to also pass out. He just barely managed to push himself away from it when his arms finally gave out. He lands on the hard cold ground inches away from it, quietly suffering now.

“Great. Now I have to clean up…” Kate sighs. “I was really hoping it’d work. Back to the drawing board I guess. That’ll be all for today I suppose. I’ll let you get back to ‘hubby’. I’m sure he’s worried sick.” She’s saying, stepping away from Stiles’ limp and heaving form on the floor.

“Well, not as sick as you.” She comments at last moment, making Stiles groan.

_So not funny._

From there it’s a blur, as she yells for Jacob to come in and take him back to the cell. Stiles doesn’t even have the energy to fight being dragged up. He just wants to lie down and maybe curl up with Peter at this point. He feels cold and achy.

He nearly throws up again on the way back, causing Jacob to curse and drop him hard onto the ground. Too bad he did, because Stiles totally wants to puke on the jerk. Before he knows it though, they’re already back at the cell.

What greets him has his heart break.

0000000

Pain.

That’s all he can register.

Peter is no stranger to pain, but he’s been spoiled recently. It feels new and all consuming, this certain strain of it.

Left waiting in the dark afterwards, alone, is almost worst.

It’s been hours it seems, since he had to watch Stiles be dragged away by a wolf with lecherous eyes. He couldn’t see Stiles when the metal door closed on him. He couldn’t _hear_ Stiles. His inner wolf howled, and he outwardly fought.

Oh, he fought.

The other Alpha was no match alone. More had come, betas strengthened by their leader. Peter was alone. No pack, no mate. Nothing to make him stronger. His only strength was in fighting to get to Stiles.

But nothing mattered, because the torment was endless. The wolves clawed and bit and bruised every bit of exposed skin. When they ran out, they made more. His suit was in tatters, covered in and smelling of blood. The Alpha had asked questions, while they beat him down.

‘Where was the Nemeton?’

Over and over and over they asked him. When he growled, bared his fangs and lunged, they just held him down and clawed at his stomach.

At the end, when Peter was delirious with pain, he laughed. Laughed and spit in their faces.

‘The Nemeton is everywhere and nowhere.’ He told them.

Not wrong, but not the truth. He doesn’t know why he egged them on. He doesn’t know where the Nemeton is, either. Nobody really knew. It only appeared to those it deemed worthy in times of need.

After a long time, they finally left him. It was then that the Alpha, named Dallas, got through to Peter and made his chest tighten in fear and anger.

“I guess we’ll have a turn with Stiles, if you don’t answer us next time.”

And like that, Peter nearly broke. He howled and lunged, but he was too slow and weak from all the lost blood that now painted the room. He clawed and beat the door till his fingers broke and bled. The silence drove him mad, made him feel crazy. Stiles. Stiles was out there, somewhere.

What had they done to him? How hurt would he be when they returned him? Would they return him?

He slammed into the door one last time, gasping, as his emotions flooded. No one was around to see anyway, so what was the harm? His thoughts were sardonic and cruel towards himself.

If only he’d fought harder. Pushed through and grabbed Stiles, made a run with the boy and got him out and safe and _home_. He drags his limp body over to the far wall, eyes lidded but hard as he stared at the metal door. The one thing that kept him from tearing out the throats of all those who hurt Stiles and himself.

They hadn’t even put the manacles back on, he was so weak.

That’s how Stiles found him. Eyes closed and body limp, blood plastered to his skin and clothes and all the walls. The light from the hallway lit up the dark room, making him flinch.

Stiles was unceremoniously thrown in, falling to his knees almost immediately.

“Peter!” he gasped out. The sight must be horrifying to him.

Peter’s heart clenched, the need to get up and go to his boy stronger than he’s ever felt it. He attempts to do so, but his strength is gone, with no healing kicking in due to another Alphas’ claws. The most he could do was reach his arm out, gasping as he did so.

Stiles didn’t hesitate, crawling and lunging simultaneously into Peters hold. It hurt like hell, but Peter didn’t stop him or push him away.

Peter nosed at Stiles’ neck, arms weak but stubbornly holding onto the shaking form. Stiles smelled sick, all rotting earth and poisonous herbs. He growled, holding on tighter as a bit of strength returned now that his mate was here.

“Stiles…what did…they do to you?” he croaks out into the others heated neck.

Stiles just shakes harder, a groan rising.

“To me? What did they do to you, Peter?” Stiles nearly cries out. “It looks like a bloodbath in here! Geezus, Peter…are you ok? What do I need to do?” he goes on, pulling away just enough to cast wet doe-full eyes at Peter. Peter just smiles weakly at the younger man, a smile meant only for him to see. He brings one of his hands to caress Stiles’ soft cheek.

“Just…stay close. I’m already…healing. See?” Peter says, pointing to his exposed abdomen. And sure enough, the long claw marks marring his skin are knitting together slowly but surely. Soon, there’d be nothing left to show of his abuse. He preferred it that way, honestly.

“Geezus. They really did a number on you, huh?” Stiles comments, as he lightly runs his fingers over any uncut areas he can find. That mainly ends up being his wrists and sides. His face still feels swollen, and he knows he has quite a few bones left to go to heal.

“I’m fine Stiles. But you…you smell sick. What did they do to you?” Peter all but demands. Now that Stiles has had his fill it’s Peters’ turn to observe and check over. His boy looks visibly fine, save for the healing bruise on his temple and some scratches on his hands and the knees of his pants.

“I-I’m alright, Peter. It really wasn’t that bad, compared to you…”

“Tell me.” Peter says, even flashing his eyes a little. He needed to know. The sickness smell was fading, but it worried him.

“Alright, alright, just calm down ok? Lay back, you need to heal up.” Stiles huffs out, and Peter obeys if only to get the boy talking. Stiles settles in next to him, their sides touching. “Ok. So, they took me to this lady…Kate Argent. Yeah, who woulda guessed there’s more than one Crazy in the Argents huh? But anyway, she asked me questions…”

“Questions?”

Stiles hesitates here, but goes on after a look and nudge from Peter.

“Y-yeah. Mostly things relating to magic, and my training…or if I’ve _used_ it with anyone, like, in bed. Those kind of things. Which, I totally haven’t, just so you know. Having to reassemble myself kinda drops my list of options for dates down. Not that I was dating—I wouldn’t do that to you—“

“Stiles. It’s alright. What else?” Peter encourages.

“Um, at the end. She had me drink something… And it made me really sick. I still feel like shit though. My whole body ached, and my head was dizzy. She said it was supposed to make my magic react…but nothing happened other than making me throw my guts up.”

Peter goes still at Stiles’ words, his hands clenching tight.

“Peter?”

Peter is drawn out of his thoughts, turning to stiles.

“I’m glad it didn’t work.” He says. Stiles gets this aghast look on his face, pulling away from Peter.

“What the hell! It felt like my whole body was on fire! If it worked I could’ve used my magic to get us out of here!” Stiles argues. Peter sighs, his head coming to knock against the back wall.

“No Stiles. You couldn’t have. If it had worked, it would’ve killed you.”

The words stun Stiles into silence. He has to know, Peter thinks.

“What she’s doing…mixing potions to draw out magic? Highly dangerous and highly illegal. If it had worked, your magic would’ve gone haywire fighting it, and you would’ve ended up actually cooking your insides.”

Eyes wide, Stiles looks away, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

“If it could’ve killed me, then why…”

“I’ve never met her personally, but Kate Argent has a reputation of being a sadistic bitch.” Peter offers sardonically.

Stiles laughs, though it is weak and faded.

“Could’ve fooled me. I wonder if she thought she could contain it? I mean, if she could…I could still use that.” Stiles says, always one to try and solve the big problems on his own. Peter just sighs.

“You might be right. But I would really prefer if you didn’t so eagerly jump into agreeing next time.”

“I didn’t just agree for no reason Peter. She threatened to burn your family inside a mountain ash circle!” Stiles shouts out, eyes puffy and angry as he turns on Peter. He’s shaking again and seems seconds away from passing out.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright Stiles. I’m sorry. I believe you. You’re…very brave to do that for us. For them.” Peter says softly, pulling Stiles slim form into his arms once more. Stiles goes easily, sinking down into Peters healing chest.

“I couldn’t-I couldn’t say _no_ Peter. I had to do it…oh god, I gave away so many secrets! I’m so sorry Peter, I’m so sorry—“ Stiles’ tears are free flowing now, and Peter takes it all in with hushed tones and a strong hold. He knows Stiles is safe for now on them asking about the Nemeton, because the boy truly wouldn’t know where it was either, but apparently that wouldn’t stop them from getting something else out of him. He knew they’d draw his magic out even if it killed Stiles.

His wolf growls at the thought, and he holds Stiles tight all through that second night.


	4. It's The Small Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Peter are given a bit more time to ponder on their situation, and some bonding ensues. Stiles sure does miss actual food, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda some words of warning (nothing bad lol).
> 
> So, I'm kinda just going with the flow on how magic works in this universe? I hope that's ok.
> 
> Another thing, so sorry if I butchered the meal Stiles mentions about. Polish isn't my strong suit and the internet is highly unreliable half the time lol. But I just wanted to at least include some of his mothers heritage even if I don't implement it much for Stiles. I honestly loooove stories that do though.
> 
> Thirdly, a lovely reader pointed out how I accidentally made the building a giant circle/square. Oops. I am terrible at laying out buildings in stories, so forgive me plz. I'll try not to let it happen again, but I get carried away when writing and forget to go back and fix it. I'm sure fellow writers can get that haha.
> 
> This chapter isn't too exciting sadly, but in the next one we'll be seeing/hearing from an old friend of the fandom *wink wink*
> 
> Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome!

The next morning, the two are woken by the door opening slightly in order for two apples and two water bottles to be rolled in. They wait, Stiles still lying against Peter’s side, but nothing more happens and the door clangs closed as quickly as it had opened.

Stiles is the first to move, hunger driving him forward. So much of his energy was wasted last night throwing up Kate’s homemade potion and wearing himself out crying against Peters’ shoulder. Honestly, Stiles blames the break in composure as a side effect of the brew.

“Um, hungry?” Stiles says, a wan smile sent towards Peter, who was in the middle of stretching his arms upwards. Most of his wounds looked completely healed from Stiles view, but surely the man still had some aches.

Stiles crawled back over, offering over one of the apples and water bottle to Peter.

“Nnn. What fine dining.” The older man comments, taking the offered food.

They sit in silence, the only sound the crunching of the apples. Stiles begrudgingly admits that at least they gave them fresh ones. Stiles waits until he’s finished his, down to the core as much as he could get it, and then asks the question that’s bothered him all night.

“So…what happens now?”

Peter takes one more bite from his own apple, going slower than Stiles to actually enjoy some food after nearly two days. He swallows, an empty look on his face as he stares at his half eaten ‘meal’.

“I presume they’ll keep up with these ‘tests’ and questions until they either get what they want from us, or we die.”

Stiles shifts. “Wow. You really don’t mince words.”

“Would you rather me give you false hope?” Peter retorts, voice hard.

Stiles really doesn’t know where this attitude is coming from, but he’ll let it slide. Enough has already happened in the last twenty four hours to mentally scar him for life.

“No, of course not. I just…I feel like we should have a plan to get out of here already…” Stiles says, the dejection in his voice cloying the very air. Peter sighs deeply next to him.

“Just because we don’t have a plan, doesn’t mean we’ve given up. Surely by now the others are looking for us, and if Gerard’s’ little operation here is bigger than it appears, someone is bound to snitch or switch sides, if not for the money, then because our families threatened them. Rightfully so, I’d say.” Peter consoles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just wonder how long we’ll end up waiting.”

Stiles settles his back against the cold wall, one of the spots not too overrun with dried blood. (Peter’s dried blood, his brain keeps unhelpfully reminding him.) He’s not resting long before Peter is turning to him, a warm hand coming to rest at the back of his neck in order to look him in the eyes.

Stiles heart races at their proximity, like always it seems, but Peters words are firm enough to get his attention.

“Don’t let this get to you Stiles. We _Will_ get out of here. We _Will_ survive this. The moment you let them convince you we’re trapped here forever is the moment they break you. If not for yourself, then make it through for your father.”

Stiles swallows hard, eyes growing wet. He holds it back though, really taking in the words.

He nods once, a promise and a certainty.

“I will. You too, Peter. I’ll make it through if you promise to as well.”

Stiles’ own words seem to shock Peter as his own eyes gleam for a second. Then he smiles, one warm and soft yet full of the confidence Stiles always sees in the older man.

“Of course, darling. We’ll show these goons they never should’ve messed with this couple.” With a slight blush, Stiles smiles back. Yesterday may have been hell, and the chances are it would only get worse, but with the promises now out in the air, it would make surviving much easier.

And, at least they had each other.

Promises aside though, the world still went on.

Time passed and now it was deemed that their captors return to continue yesterday’s events.

It was quickly becoming apparent that Jacob and the Alpha (who was named Dallas, totally un-ironically in Stiles’ opinion) were their main ‘handlers’. The creepiest ones too, clearly.

“Rise and shine, pups. You know the drill. Back against the wall Wolf, and there won’t be any extra bruises today.” Dallas says.

Peter is slow to relent, all wolfed out and ready to defend Stiles. Who, is flattered really, but Stiles doesn’t want Peter to be hurt any more than necessary. He puts a hand on Peters forearm, effectively stopping him getting his attention.

Peter gives him a hard look, but Stiles just shakes his head. _No_. _I’ll be fine. I’ll come back_ —is what he conveys through soft eyes. Peter finally understands, and steps to the side to let Stiles pass him.

“That’s a good lad.” Dallas comments, and Jacob is quick to grab Stiles, appearing to be nervous around Peter with his eyes wary and eager to leave. Stiles files that away for later thinking.

Even leaving semi-voluntarily is still hard, as Stiles can’t make himself look away from the metal door closing on Peter once more. But he sucks it up, and follows obediently. He knows there’s more he could learn, if he seemed the willing participant.

The same pathway as yesterday is taken, and soon Stiles is once again left to Kate’s devices. She’s just as cheery and friendly as yesterday, all apparent failures fixed or forgotten from then.

“Stiles! I hope you slept well. I know the accommodations could be better, but you get what you get, right?”

The kind attitude makes him want to puke again. Preferably all over her shiny leather shoes.

“Sure. If you could call that cell an ‘accommodation’. An accessible bathroom would be nice, for one. Or a shower. I reek of bile and Peter smells like blood. Would hate for you guys to have to put up with our smell.” Stiles idly comments, hoping he could play along with Kate’s chivalry.

She’s standing at the table again, slightly facing Stiles as he sits in the same chair from yesterday. She gets this look like she’s actually contemplating changing things, but Stiles knows she’s just doing it to lead him on.

“Hmmm. You’re not wrong. We’ll see if I can do something about that if you be a good boy today, alright Hun? We mustn’t forget what’s on the line if don’t.” she says, a clear warning.

Hiding a cringe, Stiles just pulls his best ‘smile’.

“Thanks.”

After that, Stiles is surprised that all Kate does is ask more questions, this time more on his physical health.

“What blood type are you?”

“Um, AB negative I think?”

“Were you very athletic in school?”

“No, not really. Have you seen these arms?”

“Any relationships then?”

“You already know the answer to that one, remember?”

“Just humor me, Stiles.” Kates says, like _she’s_ the exasperated one.

“No.” Stiles grumbles out.

It’s all very menial and easy to think of as harmless, but Stiles wonders how this information will be used. Best way to get answers is ask, right?

“What exactly do you get out of this? I mean, you could’ve easily found this info from my health file from school or the hospital.” Not that he wants her to, but still.

Kate is putting up the clipboard for the night it seems, but she turns to send a smile to him.

“Oh those things? They were long outdated, Hun. I’m doing you a favor, really. How else would we be able to locate your source of power?”

That had Stiles raising an eyebrow in question.

“What do you mean?”

Kate just laughs, returning from the table with…a very familiar looking jar.

“Everyone’s power comes from different sources. Some, like basic mages and the like, draw their power from items and objects they’ve got a personal connection to. Same with Druids and nature. Since you don’t seem the jewelry or hiker type, I can tell that won’t be so for you. Sparks, on the other hand, can draw their magic from within.”

“Too bad I’m not one.” Stiles challenges, hoping maybe just a little bit that she believes him.

Based on her laugh, she’s not convinced.

“I’ll have to disagree with you there, Hun. It’s the little things really, that added it up. My father wouldn’t have you taken for no reason, after all. The Nemeton itself gave you away the day you were born. We’ve just been biding our time since.”

The words make Stiles feels unsettled, knowing that Gerard (and Kate) has been waiting for this for a long time. If so, he’s surprised she’s never brought up his transition…or if she even knows.

There is something else he wants to know, before she brings the jar in her hand into focus.

“I have to ask, again. What do you get out of this? I mean, your old man made it pretty clear. Power, and probably youth, right? But you, I have no idea what you’ll gain from this. Especially when the odds are so against you.” she’s clearly playing with fire, messing around with illegal potions and who knows what else.

“That’s a good question, isn’t it?” she asks back, a dark smile sending warning signals through Stiles. “What does little Kate Argent want with all the power you could bring us? Yeah, Daddy wants power and youth, but I don’t need those. See, the thing about me, Stiles,” She says, leaning forward, holding the jar of (it’s red this time) liquid out to him.

“Is that I just like to watch people suffer.”

You can add that to his growing list of ‘Nopes’ when it came to Kate Argent. She’s still smiling at him, and Stiles just smiles back, shaky and nervous. Some villains don’t need real reasons, it seems.

“Well? It’s time to take your medicine, sweetie.” The jar sloshes in her offered hand. Stiles hesitates, but takes in nonetheless.

It’s more like the opposite of medicine, he wants to snark, but he keeps quiet, looking into her cold green eyes as he untwists the lid. This time, the smells aren’t as identifiable, but he’s sure he does catch a hint of ginseng. _Of course._

Fingers crossed something _good_ happens.

Trying to avoid tasting it, Stiles just takes three giant gulps, since drinking the whole jar doesn’t seem to matter. He gasps when he’s done, wiping his mouth and closing the lid, just like before. He hands her the jar back, leaning back into his seat and taking a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst.

Kate walks back over to the table, before turning around and watching the watch on her wrist, and Stiles. Three seconds pass. Then ten.

Nothing happens.

And then something does. Stiles’ eyes widen, as he feels something change. He can’t pinpoint it exactly, but it starts in his fingertips and runs up his arms. He clenches his hands off and on, the static-y sensation subtle put persistent. It makes him feel light, like he’s not touching the chair at all—when he knows he’s still seated firmly. He can’t help but smile a little, hands starting to shake with adrenaline.

“Wow.” He whispers out. He’s so entranced he doesn’t notice Kates eyes light up with the same glee.

Just as quick as he felt _whatever_ this was, it was gone. Snatched away by the sudden but not unexpected sickness. In a matter of seconds he’s curling over on himself and heaving up what was left of his apple.

The pain takes him crashing down, the shakes and spasms happening all over again. He curses and swears in between each heavy breath, finally brought to knees. He was really hoping this wouldn’t happen again.

Kate is standing by, watching with disappointed eyes.

“Well damn, really thought I had it this time. Seems you do have some magic in you after all, huh Spark? Father’s gonna love hearing about this.”

 _Fuck your father, and fuck you too!_ Stiles wants to shout at her, but his throat is a little busy throwing up his only meal. It goes on for another long handful of minutes, till he’s left weak and limp  like yesterday.

And just like that, Kate is calling in Jacob to drag him away. Not before leaving him with a little goodbye for good measure.

“Rest well Stiles, I’ll be seeing you again in a day or two!”

He would feel worried, if he wasn’t so focused on not puking, _again_.

He lets himself get led back, and soon he’s being tossed into his and Peter’s little cell once more. The sight that greets him this time is much better.

Peter is up and about, seeming to have been pacing, and as soon as Stiles is in, he rushes over to the younger to help him stay steady on his feet.

“Stiles! You’re back earlier than yesterday.” Peter comments, but the worried look in his eyes is hard to miss. Stiles tries to reassure him with a smile.

“And you’re not bleeding all over the place today.”

His clothes may have still been torn into shreds, save his pants mostly, but it seemed like he wasn’t hurt at all.

“It’s true. I was just as shocked as you when they let me be. Honestly, it only made me more restless.”

“Cause you missed me, right?” Stiles asks him cheekily, letting himself be sat down in his usual spot next to Peter.

Peter just laughs and shakes his head. “Tell me, what did she make you do this time? I can smell sickness on you again… but something else too.”

Instead of being perturbed about Peter ignoring his question, Stiles just smiles harder up at him, his pale and sweaty pallor fading slowly but surely.

“I think it almost worked, Peter. I _felt_ something today.”

Stiles sees Peters face fall almost immediately, and holds his tongue on commenting on it. Peter always has reasons for his expressions, Stiles has learned.

“What did you feel?” the man asks, voice quiet, but a hint of curiosity was there.

Stiles thought about it, tried to summon up the memory in the easiest of words.

“Like I was floating. It felt like I had lighting at the tips of my fingers, but I couldn’t see any. It was gradual, but amazing and warm. I think I have magic, Peter! Isn’t that amazing?” he says, turning to Peter, eyes a little hopeful.

Peter just gives him a sad smile. “Of course it’s amazing Stiles. But you still got sick. I have a feeling that next time you won’t, and by then Kate will have what she want’s from you.”

“Oh. I…didn’t really think of that.” Well, there goes his mood. Or what he had of one, anyway. “Well, you don’t have to worry right away, because I think she said something about waiting two days or so.”

“How generous of her.” Peter says flatly. Stiles can see that Peter is still troubled by the news, so he grips Peters upper arm in comfort.

“I’m trying to keep a positive outlook on this, dude. I thought that’s what we were gonna do, so maybe stick to it?”

That finally gets a smile from the older man. “Fiancé, remember? Not _dude_. But point taken.” The two finally settle down, side to side, as Stiles slowly starts to feel better and Peter is calmed by his presence.

It’s another night of idle talk and waiting, only interrupted by bathroom breaks and food being dropped off.

This time, they get unwrapped granola bars with their water. Stiles notices the old bottles had been removed sometime during the day.

The food is crunchy and bland as he bites into it.

“Uughhh. I miss real food. I could seriously lop a head off for some curly fries and a soda.” Stiles grumbles out, loud and exaggerated.

Peter snickers beside him. “I agree. I rather miss cooking something hot and warm.”

“Wait, you can cook?” Stiles asks, turning to look at Peter with a disbelieving look.

“Rather well, if I do say so myself. Usually only for myself, but I’d planned…” he starts, but fades off. Stiles doesn’t want the silence back, and the brooding look on Peters’ face is never easy to handle.

“I’d like to try some, when we get out.” He says softly. This grabs Peters attention again, and the man is smiling lightly.

“What would you want me to make? And no, curly fries aren’t on the menu.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out in a childish display (but adorable in Peters mind), before taking his time to think of what he wants his first meal to be once they’re out of this hell hole.

An idea comes to him, long forgotten but locked away for safekeeping.

“ _Kotlet mielony_.”

Now Peter is the one with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles laughs at the sight.

“It’s a polish meal, one my mom used to cook for my dad and I…”

A look of understanding passes over Peters face now, and he smiles warmly. It makes his eyes crinkle and Stiles feels warm just looking at it. “Ah, I remember now. I believe she actually brought some for us once, shortly after your arrival if I recall correctly.”

“Haha, yeah. She liked to spoil people she saw good in. Dad used to say it was just because she was homesick.”

“But then she had you, Stiles. She never smelled sad to me.” Peter says, and Stiles realizes he really appreciates that. His eyes even start to water, so he wipes furiously over them. Her memory always gets to him like this, even years later.

“I miss her. I miss my Dad too.”

And it’s the truth; One he’s scared to admit to his father, who works so hard just to keep him fed, who let the Hales in only because Claudia had vouched for them. He knows how much his father had loved her, and still loves her. But Stiles feels like he can never actually _talk_ about her around his dad.

“I know.” Peter replies, shifting over and wrapping his arm around Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles would be upset at how clingy he’s being recently, but when you don’t know when the next time you’ll see any of your family is, he just lets it happen.

He’s curled into Peters side, warm and safe for now. Peter doesn’t stop him from burrowing into his neck, so Stiles doesn’t deign to feel bad about hogging the man’s space. It does bring to focus something he hadn’t noticed before.

“Hey, you totally have a beard growing in.” he snickers, letting the light mood lift him up from dark thoughts.

Peter laughs back, surprising Stiles when he leans in and burrows back into Stiles throat.

“I know. It’s dreadful, isn’t it?” And yeah, it’s kinda patchy and rough, and unusual since he’s always seen Peter with a smooth jaw, but….it also kinda brings up kinks Stiles didn’t even know he had.

He laughs away the growing thoughts, pushing Peter back out of his space (just a little bit; he still wants that wolfy warmth).

“Naww. Just makes you look wilder. Think you could scare off our captor with it when it’s grown in all the way?”

 _And it’s kinda hot_ , he doesn’t say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending seems abrupt. I wasn't sure where to cut it.
> 
> Kotlet mielony - minced meat cutlet with eggs, bread crumbs, garlic, and salt and pepper rolled into a ball and fried with onions and butter. I totally wanna try this some day.


	5. Cold Water, Colder Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets shared in solitude are always safe, are they not? Who else will hear them aside from Stiles and Peter anyways.  
> Something approaches, and time is running short on peace. 
> 
> But all is not lost, as a new friend makes themselves known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geeze. THIS chapter. I def had too much fun writing it.
> 
> Chapter Warning just to be safe:  
> Brief Transphobic language due to mean character being mean.  
> (We eat Transphobes in real life tho, and it won't be tolerated here thank you very much in case that wasn't clear)
> 
> Tags have also been added ;)  
> Have fun!

True to her word, Stiles and even Peter are left alone for what he guesses is two days.

Peter’s more certain because he felt a full moon pass, and Stiles would trust that over his own gut instincts any day. The food that they get is also a good indicator of when it’s breakfast and dinner.

Stiles really misses having lunch.

He also knows that the lack of full meals and basic hygiene like showers and toothbrushes is something that their captors are likely doing to break them down. Peter never shows it, but Stiles knows they’re only going to grow weaker if this keeps up.

It’s been nearing the six day mark, and for now the two can only wait.

Stiles talks a lot but Peter happily listens. It’s clear as day that they’re getting along together more each day, but Stiles doesn’t mind. They were going to after the ceremony anyways, so why fight it? Peter’s all he has here, and Stiles likes to think that he helps ground the older man as well.

Their conversation now is proof of all this.

“What about your favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Pfft. Should’ve guessed. Big Alpha wolf likes the color red.”

“So then what’s yours, All-knowing Stiles?” Peter retorts.

They’re both propped against one another, like usual. Peter’s heat is addictive, Stiles notes.

“I’d say…blue. No, purple! Yeah, purple.”

“Why the change in answer? And What’s so special about purple?”

“Well,” Stiles starts, pretending to think about it. It’s obvious he knows why, but he’s just trying to make the topic less dull. “there’s just something about purple that I like. It’s instinctual, ya know?”

“Mmm. Clearly.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, taking the time they have to enjoy learning about his fiancé. So far they’ve covered favorite movies (his was Avengers, hands down. Peter surprised him by saying his was Deadpool), which led to favorite heroes or villains (Stiles’ was Loki, for obvious reasons, and Peters’ was Shatterstar). It was enlightening to know the person he’d be with for the rest of his life was also a giant geek.

“What about videogames? Did you ever play any?”

“What do you mean ‘Did I’? I still do.”

“No way!” Stiles cries out, just a little bit excited about that. “What game’s your favorite?”

“Doom, of course. What’s not to love about endless slaughter?”

“You scare me sometimes.” Stiles laughs out. He only slightly means it.

“Can’t have that, now can we? How about this: I’ll tell you my deepest, darkest secret. Something that not even Talia knows about.” Peter offers, quirking his eyebrow in question.

Stiles pushes at Peters shoulder in mock offense, mouthing ‘jerk’ into the air.  But his curiosity wins over.

“Really? Do I even wanna know it if you’ve held it so close?”

Peter just keeps smirking at him. “I think it’s safe to say that we have plenty of time to learn about one another. Might as well get the annoying things out of the way.”

“hmm. I guess so. You go first.” Stiles turns fully to Peter in anticipation. The older man takes the moment to lean in, breath warm against his ear.

….

“No way!”

“Yes way. Tell a soul and nobody will believe you.”

So un _fair_. But a promise is a promise, so Stiles just nods before leaning into Peter just as he had, to tell his own.

….

“Oh, that’s simply adorable.”

“Is not!” Stiles argues vehemently.

“Is too, and I’m going to hold it dear to my heart till the day we die.” Peter settles back, but not before winking. Stiles blushes red, even though Peters done it a million times by now. It shouldn’t be as sweet as it is.

The two resume their question and answer game until it’s run dry of anything interesting, so for a bit Stiles gets up and paces for some exercise. He never expected captivity to be this… _boring_.

Not that he wants it to be interesting, per se. Because it could be worse. At least he has a buddy to spend the time with.

In the back of his mind he wonders if that was part of Gerard’s plan too.

He’s just glad Peter hasn’t said anything about his jumpiness and fidgeting so far. He hasn’t gone this long without his Adderall since he was a forgetful kid. Not to mention…he has to keep in mind his Shot day. Every other Sunday he’d have a whole process of showering, setting up a spot in his room and pulling out his vial of T. He even shaved a stupid little spot on his thigh so the band aid wouldn’t stick to the hair there. The wedding was on Monday…and he’d done his last shot that Sunday before….So this week was safe, seeing as it was only Friday…It’ll eventually become a problem though, if they stay here any longer.

It was bothering him, and in turn it made him want to _do_ something. He could tell that Peter knew he was agitated, but the man let him be. Probably for the best, seeing as Stiles was probably liable to be the first one to snap.

It was what seemed like the middle of the day, the lights in the cell on all the way indicating so, when the cell door opened again. Peter was immediately on alert and standing by Stiles as their usual hosts sauntered in.

“Afternoon, boys. Miss Kate would like to see the young one, so if you’d step aside Wolf…”

Irritated at being spoken about and not to, Stiles steps forward.

“Yeah, we get it, Southern Magee. I’m ready, so let’s go.”

Stiles is ready to get this over with, but he’s stopped by Peters hand on his wrist. It rattles his chains in eerie reminder of their situation.

“Stiles…something doesn’t feel right about this…” Peter looks genuinely worried, eyeing between Stiles and their captors as he whispers.

Stiles sends him a weak smile. “It never does. But what choice do we have?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, so Stiles slips out of his hold, approaching the other Alpha with his chin held high.

“I’m agreeing to come, and Kate is getting what she wants from me. So you’re going to leave Peter alone from now on.”

The man, Dallas, raises a thick eyebrow, a scoff escaping his rough lips. “Oh, am I?”

“Yes.” Stiles all but demands.

His heart is racing, and he’s sure all three wolves can hear it, but he’s banking on his previous good behavior to help. It must work, because the Alpha actually smiles, before grabbing Stiles’ shoulder in a hard grip.

“All right, pup. We didn’t have any plans for him today anyways. ‘Cmon Jacob, let’s escort him to Miss Kate then.”

Stiles doesn’t turn to watch as he’s led out, doesn’t want to see Peters conflicting expression he knows is there. He can’t imagine how being left alone for hours must feel to Peter, being a wolf and all, but Stiles refuses to be completely helpless. If he can save Peter from being hurt like the other day, then he’ll do whatever he can.

000000

He’s brought to a different room this time.

Further than the room he’s always been brought to, and hidden behind another metal door. He can’t stop his nervous jitters, but neither wolf on either side of him comments on it as they bring him through.

The room is wide, cement floor and walls just like the rest of the building. There is something hidden under a thick green tarp at the center of the room, where a giant drain sits off to the side in the floor. The door closes behind him with a heavy thud as they enter.

Kate comes in from a side door at the other end of the room he hadn’t noticed at first. She’s all smiles like usual, but seemingly dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans. The fact that she doesn’t have anything in hand doesn’t lessen his wariness.

“Good to see you, Stiles. Have a nice two day break from my pretty face?” she asks, and he’s almost tempted to say _Hell yes,_ but the imposing Alpha at his side seems like he’d enjoy having a reason to put Stiles in his place. It doesn’t seem like she expected an answer anyway, as she approaches the large covered object in the room.

“So, I’ve been thinking. I know you said that you would appreciate some shower time. Well, it looks like what I’ve got planned for you aligns with that. Though, this won’t be a shower, but a bath is close enough, right?” she’s saying, and sure enough, when she pulls the tarp off the object it’s revealed to be a simple four-footed white bath tub. It’s already filled to the brim, with no facet to be seen.

But that’s not what really catches Stiles’ attention. It’s the fact that the tub is filled with _ice_.

“I think you and I have very different opinions on preferred water temp, Kate.” Is all he can say, still staring at the ominous tub.

“Nonsense. Besides, this is more than just a bath. It’s an old Druid trick, to get one so exposed to an extreme event that their magic triggers in defense. Learned it from an old friend. It’s a perfectly normal and safe thing, Stiles.”

“Riiight. And by expose, you mean just taking a dip, or…?” he asks, this whole situation seeming worse by the second. He really doesn’t want to have to soak in a literal bath of ice. He knew he was a wimp when it came to just colder showers, much less this.

“I’m afraid it’s more than that. We’ll have to drown you.”

Stiles heart nearly jumps from his chest. Kate keeps talking though, like she’s just talking about a regular list of chores.

“Normally you’d need an anchor, or someone you trust to put you under, but I figured in this case, it’s the last thing you need when we’re _trying_ to get your power out. It’s just a matter of seeing what happens, and using this charm I’ve got to harness it.” And sure enough she holds up a small empty vial around her neck, with tiny little markings engraved into it.

If the fact that they were going to drown him wasn’t overhauling his mind, he’d wonder how such a tiny thing could hold his ‘yet-to-show-itself’ power inside it.

Currently though, the drowning wins over all thoughts.

“I think I preferred the puking jar of misery instead, thanks. And I take back what I said about a bath. I’m sure Peter and I can deal with smelling a little longer.” He says, trying to back up in small steps. He’s stopped promptly by one strong hand on both his arms. Right. Werewolf bodyguards.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. Just think of this as one of Deaton’s training exercises you’ve told me about. Of course, it’ll be for the betterment of my father and I, and it’s not like the Druid’ll find out.”

“Yeah, that’s a big time N-O.”

At his words, Kates eyes sharpen, glinting in the low light.

“It wasn’t really a request, Stiles. Now,” she says, clapping her hands in front of her once, “it’ll be easier on all of us if you’d strip down. You can keep your underwear on, of course. Not all of us are perverted dogs. And those that are can keep it in their pants for now, right, _Jacob_?”

Said wolf is grinning, his hand hard around Stiles’ arm. “Of course, _Kate_.”

And fuck, he’s really in for it now. He wondered why the man was so quiet today. With a stuttering breath, Stiles tries to yank his arm out of the grip, but it’s pretty much pointless. The other hand on him, the Alphas, is almost stronger, and when they get to doing Kate’s bidding Stiles makes sure to put up a fight.

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t sexual (for most here, save Jacob apparently), it was still his body and he wasn’t about to let some sadists like Kate and Dallas and Jacob see it.

“Get your hands off me!” he yells, but it’s useless, as the two wolves work on bringing him closer to the tub, while dually undressing him. His shirt is the first to go, as it’s the easiest to remove even with his struggling. Buttons fly as it’s torn off in his efforts to stop them. Hands are gripping and holding him, leaving bruises in their wake as they travel down to rip the hem of his pants around his waist.

Jacob holds him tight against his chest, his thick chest warm even through his own shirt, as Dallas leans down to pull his shoes and socks off. At the last moment Stiles manages to get one good kick into the man’s face. Dallas falls away, clutching his nose and cursing as some blood drips onto the floor.

Stiles would cheer if he wasn’t focused on getting out of Jacob’s arms. But Jacob holds tight, his werewolf strength winning by miles, and soon Dallas is back to finish his job. Stiles gives out one last cry of frustration as he feels the chill on his bare skin.

True to her word, he still has his boxers on.

“Fuck you all. Up the ass with a fucking broomstick.” He seethes out. Short and sweet, since he’s not playing the ‘good captive’ anymore.

Kate just laughs, having watched it all happen within a matter of moments.

“Don’t worry Stiles, we’ll keep your secrets safe.” She winks at him.

He doesn’t even know how to respond to that. And yeah, he can feel eyes landing on his chest, and the fine scars there. Very few surgeries leave ones like them, so of course she’d point it out.

“Maybe him being a freak messes up his magic.” Jacob comments, his breath hot and humid (stinking of something fowl and rotten). Stiles swears he feels the man’s hands wandering, up his side and arms.

“Maybe your face is asking to be peeled off.” Stiles hisses out, but he’s ignored as Kate approaches the tub next to them.

“Enough. I want to get this started. Put him in boys.” She commands.

They start to lift him, Jacob at his torso and Dallas at his legs, and Stiles can’t make himself hold still.

“Wait! Wait! Please—”  He’s ignored once more though, pleas falling on deaf ears and the next thing he knows he’s being dunked into the coldest water he’s ever felt. It’s so sudden that on instinct he gasps, but there’s no air—and fuck he’s underwater, and he can’t breath—no air, no breath left to take. He jerks and pulls at the hands holding him down, but nothing works and all he sees are dark blurs above the sloshing water. Without acknowledging it he feels Kate join in, her hands plunging in to hold the sides of his face in her palms.

Bubbles break the surface, the last of his oxygen lost. The light, the figures, the hands, it’s all lost to him as it begins to fade into the background. He knows he’s dying, suffocating, but he can’t comprehend how it’s happening, that it _can’t_ be happening. Not to him. But it is, and every time he blinks, the longer he feels them stay closed.

His lungs squeeze and burn and ache.

He thinks of his father. Left alone at home, probably worried sick as he searches endlessly for answers.

He thinks of the Hales—Talia and all her children and their children and the Pack. How much he took for granted them treating him like a person instead of an object of power like Gerard and Kate.

Lastly, he thinks of Peter.

Then everything fades.

0000000

Up above, the ground shakes and the lights flicker.

Purple light bubbles up from the water’s surface and into the air like mist, pulled into the vial around Kate’s neck as she chants under her breath. It goes, as if it were a life force seeking shelter from a dying vessel. She cradles the face below in her palms, feeling power surge through her.

She smiles, dark and hungry.

0000000

In the cell, Peter paces.

Something is wrong. _Everything_ is wrong.

He never should’ve let Stiles go with those monsters, impending torture be damned. He’d bare it all if it meant Stiles wasn’t away from him and in _their_ hands.

He paces, claws pricking blood from his palms. His eyes glow red under the flickering lights. The ground finally stops shaking and the lights settle.

His knees give out suddenly at the same time, and he falls, gasping into the hard floor, body shaking and mind searching for the cause.

No. NO.

He can’t feel him anymore…

He can’t…

He can’t feel Stiles.

00000000

 _Hello, there_.

‘Um, Hi?’

_Do you remember me?_

‘Am I supposed to?’

_I would hope so, but I’m not mad that you don’t._

‘What’s going on?’

_Why, it seems you’re dying. Rather unfortunate, really._

‘Umm. Who…are you?’

_Who I am isn’t important right now. It’s who **you** are that is, Stiles._

‘And who am I exactly?’

_A Spark._

‘So I’ve been told, but…’

_You don’t have to worry Stiles. I can explain everything, if you want._

‘Where are we?’

_Ah…that is a little hard to say. We are in between the place of life and death. Where souls pass through on their way to the next body. Much like a doorway. The door was open, and so I came in._

‘I never let you in. You’re…dangerous.’

_So are you, Stiles. So much untapped power inside of you. You could save yourself and Peter ten times over if only you could use it._

‘What if I don’t want that much power? What if I just want to get out once, for good, with Peter.’

_That’s ok too. I can take some of it off your shoulders for you._

‘That doesn’t sound very wise.’

_Such a smart one, you are. But you can trust me, Stiles. And you don’t have to decide now. I’ve got all the time in the world._

‘I guess…Let me think it over. When I’m, not dying, you know?’

_Of course, little Spark. I’ll be here. Waiting. There’s so much I could teach you._

‘How do I get ahold of you then, when I decide?’

_Easy. You just…._

_Have to let me in._

0000000

“Damnit! Try harder!”

“Any harder and I’ll break his ribs!”

“I don’t care, just do it!”

Stiles felt like hell.

His chest burned like nothing he’s ever felt before, and when he tried to take a breath in, nothing came in. Instead, he felt the urge to vomit, and so turned onto his side. Water sloshed onto the already wet cement floor, pooling around his shivering form. He coughed and spit again and again until he felt like he could somewhat breath normally.

The movement of others around him made him perk up, wet hair and water droplets blocking most of his vision.

Dallas is crouched next to him, apparently having been the one to do CPR. Stiles vaguely hopes that the man hadn’t kissed him to do it. Or any of them, for that matter.

Kate is standing above them, lording over in her usual fashion, arms and t-shirt dripping water onto her feet.

 She looks angry. Very angry.

At this point, he didn’t care, and so tried to speak.

“You…fucking…drowned…me!” it comes out more of a husk, but it works on grabbing her attention.

“Oh please, Stiles. We pulled you out as soon as you passed out. Your heart only stopped for a minute.” She comments idly.

His heart stopped?! Had he really….died?

The sudden recollection of a conversation comes to him. Something weird and otherworldly. But it’s lost to him now, and thus he focuses on the present.

Kate is explaining something.

“—Didn’t even get that much. Barely filled the vial. Like it was blocked off.”

Stiles squints up, noticing the glowing necklace hanging around her throat. Time feels weird, as he looks at it, watching the glowing purple light, misting around in the tiny vial. He feels a calling towards it, wants to get up and take back what was taken.

He can hardly believe that _that_ came from him.

The more he watches it the more he realizes how tired he is. He did just die, so being tired isn’t that surprising. But it feels deeper than that—if that’s even possible. It feels like Kate really took a piece of him.

“—work for now, I suppose. Take him back before he passes out again, please. I’ll let my father know of this turn of events. We’ll have to try harder next time.”

Everything is like a blur of motion as he’s picked up, nearly naked and shaking. He’s still soaked to the bone too. The wolves don’t even bother to carry him fully—his ankles and feet drag on the hard ground, but he’s too weak to do anything about it.

It feels like he loses time, the journey back to the cell completely lost to him, but awareness comes back as soon as he’s tossed in.

Peter’s familiar warmth is suddenly by his side, holding him tighter than ever before. Stiles wonders what he smells like this time to have Peter so clingy.

The door bangs closed and they’re promptly left alone.

Stiles is slow to react to anything, feeling numb and slightly lost. Dying does that to a person, he supposes. But Peter is saying his name, rather urgently. He even feels a palm tapping his cheek repeatedly.

“P’tr?”

“Stiles, please, look at me.” The words slip through, strained and worried sounding. Stiles didn’t realize his eyes were still closed. He opens them, and is greeted to the sight of a very distraught werewolf. Peter looks like a mess—all wide eyes, the red for once not his powers but from tears and friction. His hair is all over the place like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. It makes Stiles smile, seeing the wolf so untamed.

He might a little loopy still, too.

Peter sees him finally responding, but it doesn’t change his worried demeanor. Instead he just holds Stiles closer, pulling the youngers face into his neck and chest to chest. It feels amazing, Stiles realizes. He didn’t know how cold he was until now. Peters hands were running up and down his back and arms, anywhere they could reach really, and much more preferable than Jacobs.

“Come on, say something Sweetheart. I need to know you’ve come back to me.” Peter is saying.

Stiles tries to respond, but he only manages to cough all over Peters neck. The wolf doesn’t seem to mind though, and is still attempting to warm him up.

“I’m here…mostly.” He tries to joke. It falls short on worried ears, but at least he can speak now.

“Good. I thought…I felt…”

Peter seems to be struggling now to get the words out, so Stiles nudges him with a limp hand, while also trying to burrow further in the warmth. His shaking is stopping, but he’s still wet and cold.

It’s also the moment his brain catches up and notices that they’re chest to chest, bare of any shirts. _That_ gets some heat into his cheeks at least. He’s never noticed the fine hairs on Peters chest. It suits the man though, just like the growing stubble on his jaw.

He really must be out of it if his minds going to the gutter thinking about Peter like this right now. He literally just died.

And wow, that really doesn’t get old saying.

“What...did you feel?” he asks, trying to get back on track. All things aside, he feels like he needs to be here for Peter.

“Our bond. My bond to you…I swear I could feel your heart stop. I thought they’d killed you…” Peter admits, voice harrowed and eyes never leaving Stiles form.

Stiles can’t meet the other’s eyes.

“I-I’m sorry. I just, wanted to keep you safe too, ya know?...”

“What did they do, Stiles?” Peter says. Stiles imagines it would normally be a demand, but for some reason Peter is being awfully patient.

“You weren’t wrong…My heart did stop. It was…like a ritual. Drowned me in a tub of ice. I don’t remember much…I’m so sorry Peter.”

Peter goes rigid against Stiles as he explains, but just as quickly goes back to squeezing the breath out of him. (How ironic, that.) He’s happy to let it happen though.

“Don’t apologize, Stiles. The only ones in the wrong are our ‘hosts’. Trust me when I say they’ll pay for this.”

If he wasn’t so worn out, Stiles would heartily agree. But for now, he just wants to relax in his wolfs arms. But there was more that happened, and he needs to let Peter know.

“Peter…Something did happen. When I came back…Kate had this vial necklace, and there was…Power inside it. My power. I looked at it and I just _knew_ …”

Peter freezes once more, looking down in shock at Stiles.

“Fuck.” Is all he says.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Kate having a sample of his power…who knows what it could do in her and Gerard’s hands.

“It’s kinda funny though…it was so purple. I could feel it call out to me.”

Peter leans back, Stiles in his arms, this time with a fond and proud look Stiles didn’t expect.

“I always knew you’d be a powerful one, darling.” He whispers. The words make Stiles feel warmer than even Peters hugs. His heart flutters a bit even.

“Liar. You said you didn’t even know if I was Spark.” Stiles lightly teases.

“I said we weren’t sure. There’s a difference. And since Kate knows now, I guess there’s no denying it. There was always the chance you’d be something special.” Peter says, with a bit of awe coloring his voice. Stiles’ blush returns stronger than before.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Now shush, you clearly need rest. I’ll dry you off the best I can with our extra clothes. Morons…throwing you in a cold cell wet like this…catch pneumonia at this rate…” Peter mumbles.

Stiles wants to argue. He wants to stay up and discuss what all this means and what will happen now. But he doesn’t really get the choice as his own body is the one that pushes him into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who the new 'friend' is? Not very discrete, but I went with it and oh dear. Shivers.


	6. Drastic Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of victory, shared with a kiss. But will it last?
> 
> A deal is made, and fates are sealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UUUUgh. This chapter kicked my butt. It just didn't want to come out easily so I kinda struggled. I hope you lovely readers at least enjoy it, and that it flows well with the rest of the story. It still feels wrong, but I couldn't think of another way for things to happen to lead to the next part.
> 
> I would love some feedback if you're up for it--if maybe I could change some things to make more sense or just be more interesting for the big impact this chap makes. Anyway.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Much love to you all, my saucy Steter lovers <3

Ever the vigilant guard, Peter is still hovering over Stiles even as he wakes from a nightmare of icy water and suffocation. He thinks he heard a voice somewhere in there too.

He groans, pushing out of the man’s hold to get some space, and to stretch sore muscles. Peter is kind enough to not comment on Stiles’ drying fear sweat.

“Geeze, how long was I out?” he asks Peter, noticing the other stretching his limbs as well.

“Not long enough, in my opinion. But you seem better now. Don’t smell as sick.”

If Stiles didn’t know how important scent was to Weres’, he’d be offended at how often Peter comments on his.

“Any food by chance?” Stiles asks, surveying the empty room. Peter shakes his head.

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” Stiles groans again, this time in displeasure. He’s so hungry now.

Stiles settles for returning to Peters side, the wolf like a heater without him even needing to touch to warm up. He feels odd without any real clothes on, but at least Peter’s in the same boat as him. It looks like he’d torn the hem of his pants off in order to dry Stiles off, seeing as their vest and ties were nowhere to be seen since a few days ago.

The silence was getting to him, so he figured it was time for that conversation while they wait for food—if it ever came. Stiles is about to speak when Peter beats him to it.

“We’re getting out of here.”

That has Stiles turning wide eyes to him, brows raised.

“Really? What happened to waiting?”

“I never said we were just waiting around. I know you’ve thought up just as many ideas as I have on how to get past our jailors. But as of yesterday, Gerard finally has a slice of that power he wants so badly. It’s no doubt only a matter of time before he comes to visit us himself.”

“Yeah? We can’t really do anything about that exactly.” Stiles comments.

“We _have_ to leave before he arrives. I don’t want to think about what he’s got planned for you now...”

Stiles shudders, because yeah, he didn’t even think of that.

“What more could he want?” he asks Peter, a bit nervous. Peter takes the moment to pull Stiles back down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. It helps ease the panic a bit and Stiles is grateful.

“I’m not sure how, but I believe he wants your power to access the Nemeton.”

“How would it do that? It’s not like I can control it, and I haven’t felt it since…” _Drowning to death._

Things definitely aren’t looking good at this rate.

“I have no idea. But leave it to an Argent like Gerard to get the answers by any means possible.” Is all Peter can say. It’s hard, not being able to plan ahead or be prepared for whatever the crazy old man does next.

Stiles sighs, throwing his head back against Peters’ shoulder.

But then again…

There’s a little voice at the back of his mind, trying to tell him something. The voice seems familiar, and Stiles tries to concentrate on it.

 _Let me help you,_ it seems to say.

An idea strikes Stiles, a vision at the backs of his eyes that seems so clear, so obvious, that he’s disappointed at himself for not thinking of it earlier.

“Peter, can you tell who’s outside the door right now?”

Peter looks over at Stiles, a confused look followed by: “Yes, I can. My sense of smell is mostly suppressed because of these damned cuffs, but I can tell who’s out there. Why?”

Stiles nods. “Is it our wolfy friends?”

“No. It’s the human hunters. Again, Why so interested?”

Ignoring Peter for a moment, Stiles tries to think about how to say this. The human hunters have been their nightly guards for the last three days, giving them their dinners and restroom breaks during that time. And if Stiles is right, it’s got to be close to evening by now. The woman, who seems the older of the two, always has her modified rifle at the ready whenever they escort him and Peter. The man is easy to overlook as a threat, but he too carries a pistol at his hip. Neither captor has ever talked to them so far, so it’s hard to gauge how on-guard the two are.

But something in Stiles is telling him to _do_ something with the fact that they’re humans, and all Peter needs to overtake them are the manacles gone…

And a little trickery on his own part.

“I think I have an idea. It’s risky but…”

Peter looks reluctant to believe it, but he gives the go ahead anyway. “Well, do tell.”

“Remember when I said I could play dead? To trick them? Well, they don’t know for a fact that I’m feeling better, and humans are easy to lie to, so…” Stiles starts. Peter is listening intently, gears turning in his own head.

“That…could work. In theory. But you’d be playing sick, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmhm. You could get their attention; say that I need to use the bathroom.” Stiles whispers, aware that they’re probably still being listened in on.

“And then what? Stiles, I know you’re not helpless, but you can’t exactly fight off two people at once.”

“But I wouldn’t be! All we need is the key to your cuffs, and bingo. You do your wolfy thing and get them out of the way, and then we get _out_.” Stiles says, the first feeling of excitement taking over since the early days here.

“You know, I’m surprised neither of us thought of that before…it just might work. Think you’re a good enough pickpocket?” Peter challenges, but there is a bit of a proud smile on his lips that makes Stiles feel warm.

“I think I can…No, I _know_ I can. I just have this feeling that this’ll work, you know?”

“Not quite,” Peter laughs, his hand brushing along Stiles neck. “But your enthusiasm is encouraging. If you think you’re able to do this…then I have to let you. Denying a Spark the chance to act on this feeling that you have would be terribly stupid.” Peter says.

Stiles doesn’t know where this surety is coming from, but he likes the feeling. He just knows he can do this; it’s like a compulsion to at least _try_.

So, with a plan set out, Stiles does his best to breathe deeply, trying to call up his reactions to the times he’s been sick.

“Ok,” he says after a moment, Peter waiting patiently beside him. “Do you think you know which one’s holding the key?” he asks.

Peter looks to the door, as if he can see through it, but in reality he’s probably focusing on his sense of smell. Does the key even have a smell? Stiles recalls Peter saying it was magical, so perhaps that gives it away.

He nods. “The man is holding it. I could almost certainly bet that he’s holding it because she doesn’t trust him to have her back while unlocking me.” Stiles laughs a little, trying to stifle it.

“Ok. That might make it easier. I’m ready, then. Let’s just hope this’ll be the last time I have to be ‘sick’ here.” Stiles says, before playing the part and curling in on himself.

Peter makes his way over to the door, all ears and awareness, giving Stiles one last encouraging look. Stiles smiles back shakily, before putting his face in his knees and wrapping his arms around them.

“Hey!” Peter yells, knocking on the hard door three times. “Mind taking my mate to the bathroom before he throws up all over the floor? It’s going to be very unpleasant if he does!” Peters perfectly faked urgency makes Stiles want to give him kudos for being a good actor, but he also has his part to play, and so readies himself once he hears the door unlock and swing open.

The woman is in the doorway, gun held low but at the ready.

“What is it, Wolf? We don’t just come at every beck and call you make.” She spits out. She’s glaring at Peter, but Stiles draws it away by groaning loud enough to draw her attention.

“Yeah, well. I figured you could help us out for this. Unless you want vomit all over this cell? It would be far worse than just piss and blood, dear.” Peter says, seemingly calm but having his eyes go back and forth from Stiles to her, as if he really was worried about him being sick.

Stiles curls up tighter, faking a small gag.

“Vy, he does look sick…I really don’t want to have to clean that up after they’re gone.” The man says next to her.

Bingo. Stiles knew he’d be the pushover. Now if only…

Vy glares hard at Peter and Stiles, before raising her rifle at the older.

“Fine. Walk back to the wall wolf. You can get him out, Connor.” She orders. Peter obediently walks to the back wall, chains dragging along the way. Soon, he’d be free of them if this all went to plan.

And the fact that she’s sending the man in is good, because he has the key. He’s likely the easier to fool of the two as well. This all seems too easy; too convenient. But it’s too late to second-guess, and the man is pulling him up by the arm now.

Stiles feigns weakness, which in some respect is still true, but he gets up to follow the man’s pull with more groans. He doesn’t look back as they leave Peter.

Since the bathroom isn’t far, he has to do this now or never.

Halfway down the hall, he stumbles.

“Hey!” is yelled out, but Stiles is too focused on pretending to need help standing.

He falls against the man, Connor, with a loud gag for added effect. Stiles grabs at the man’s hip, hoping, _needing_ , the key to be on his right side. It is, the hard line there unmistakable.

The strangest thing happens then—before he can even attempt to slip his hand into the pocket, he feels _It_ again. The rush of static in his fingertips, growing and growing in a matter of seconds through his whole arm, making him feel lightheaded but aware of everything around him. And then suddenly, his hand is wrapped around something hard.

The key.

…What?

He’s so lost for a few seconds that he doesn’t even take note of the man still leading him as if nothing is wrong. The woman is a few feet ahead, telling them to hurry up.

Stiles heart races, holding his hand fisted at his side now.

How the hell did that happen? It’s like he literally grabbed it through the fabric of Connors pockets. And he didn’t fuck it up either. Captors oblivious, Stiles lets himself be led into the bathroom. He falls towards the toilet, being sure not to let them see his closed hand. From afar, it’ll just look like he’s holding his side. But it’s not needed, as both of them leave the bathroom with a slam of the door.

Not fans of puking sounds then. Stiles would laugh if it wouldn’t be suspicious. He gives it a few minutes, throwing in a few loud gags he’d like to think are believable. Over these past few days, he’d like to say he’s a fuckin champ at it too.

He’s still in disbelief that it actually worked. He’s not sure how he did it, just that it must have been his magic. He didn’t know it could _that_ , though…He takes a second to look at the key in his palm, and hoping that he can keep it hidden there long enough to get back to Peter. It’s not like he can hide it anywhere, seeing as he’s only in his boxers.

The door opening again after a few moments of silence from inside has him turning towards his captors, quickly flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth for effect. His hand is held firmly at his side, clutching the key.

“Ugh. Come on then. Next time we’ll just let you sit in it.” The woman says, clearly not pleased with guard duty. Stiles just follows quietly, walking between them at a slow pace this time. Connor pulls the door open, and the woman nudges him in with a hard hand.

The door closes, and the lights are dimmed for the night.

“Well?” Peter asks, already standing. Though it’s not evident, Stiles knows the wolf was worried for him. This could’ve easily gone to shit, but here they are.

Stiles smiles, a little bit of cockiness easing into it. He holds his hand up, the key glinting between his fingers.

“All better now.” He replies.

Peter’s eyes widen in shock, as if he didn’t think it would actually work. Stiles wasn’t completely sure either, but the drive to try made him go for it.

“You…How?” Peter asks, walking closer while eyeing the key like it would disappear.

“I’m actually not sure,” Stiles admits, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “It kinda just…appeared in my hand. I uh, also may have felt my magic help?? That’s the best I could guess, really.” Stiles laughs nervously. Now that he’s said it out loud, it does seem ridiculous.

Peter doesn’t seem to think so though.

“Darling boy, that’s because you _believed_.” Peter says, breathlessly, as he wraps Stiles up in a tight hug, burying his face into Stiles’ neck and nearly pulling them both down in the process. Stiles has a second of embarrassment, thinking that Peter was going to kiss him.

The thought is too early though, because in the next second that’s exactly what Peter’s doing. Holding his face gently in strong hands and pressing his lips against Stiles’. Too shocked to do anything like reciprocate, it passes quickly, with Peter pulling away and smiling brightly at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles says rather dumbly, face red and not quite sure what to do now.

Peter draws further away after a second, his own cheeks a little red surprisingly, and Stiles misses the warmth almost immediately. Peter’s still looking at him with an amazed look in his eyes. “Ah, sorry. I let myself get carried away there.” He says, even though he doesn’t look like he feels bad about it a single bit.

 

He clears his throat after a second of stunned silence on Stiles’ end. “You remember what I told you about Sparks don’t you? All you had to do was believe and…It’s just, you’re truly something else, sweetheart.” Peter says.

“Had to kiss me get that across, huh?” Stiles says cheekily, feeling a bit back to his normal, non-shy self.

“Why, of course, _Darling_.” Peter says back, even winking like the weirdo he was.

But it makes Stiles smile and laugh, so win-win for them both. All these endearments were really making Stiles wish for a better setting, but they had a plan they needed to act on, he reminds himself. “Suure. Um. Anyway. Here, let me unlock those.” Stiles offers, gesturing towards the cuffs.

“Be my guest. You wouldn’t believe how terribly itchy they are.” Peter snarks, but his smiles is wide and Stiles can’t help but be pulled into it. He distracts himself from thoughts of their quick kiss by taking Peters wrists in his hands and turning each one over to find the keyhole. Like he expected, as soon as the key slots in, a line appears in the metal for an opening. They open smoothly, but Peter doesn’t let him put them down yet.

“The next part is where this will get hard, I suppose. It won’t be long before they notice the key missing if they’re half as smart as they appear.” Peter says, taking the cuffs from Stiles. He also takes the key to put in his torn pants’ pockets. Stiles is only a little jealous the man still has some form of clothing. Though he’s grateful because if he had to see anymore of Peters perfect body he’d probably die of nosebleeds.

_Get your head out of the gutter, Stiles. Peter’s making a plan and you’re over here drooling over him still._

“Um, right. So what do we do now?” Stiles asks, unsure.

“Now we _do_ wait.” Peter has a mischievous look in his eyes that Stiles finds strangely comforting and yet unsettling. “We’ve yet to have dinner tonight, so I have a feeling that they’ll be back soon. That’s when we’ll strike.”

Stiles nods, trusting in Peter’s plan like he’d trusted in his.

“So I guess we are using one of my plans.” He has to say though, slightly teasing. Peter just huffs at him, too much in a good mood now to be deterred. Understandable really, seeing as they could be getting out of here shorty.

“It seems we are, darling. We’ll need to be fast but careful though. I’m not quite sure still how many people are actually here. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t run into other werewolves, but if we do I’ll handle them.”

“Didn’t plan on taking one anyways.” Stiles says.

With a plan in place, the two can only wait now. Peter sits by the door, ears perked for any noise outside. With the metal door still being an obstacle, they have to wait for their dinner to be rolled in. Worst case, it’s the wolves coming to take Stiles away again. But it’s nighttime, and Stiles and Peter can only cross their fingers that it’s going to be like a usual night where they’re undisturbed.

They’re both too keyed up to really talk, but Stiles is fine with sitting in the quiet for this. Peter keeps sending him reassuring looks, and that helps calm Stiles’ jittery nerves.

They end up waiting for about an hour, the only indication that it was time being Peter perking up and standing, off to the side of the door. He sends Stiles one last look, both nodding in understanding.

Whatever happens next, Stiles was adamant on them getting the hell out of here. Together.

The click of the doors locks sounds louder than normal, and Stiles is feeling an adrenaline high coming on, but he stands back, out of Peters’ way and any possible threat from outside.

The door opens with ease, and before any food can be rolled in peter lunges.

Everything happens so quickly afterwards—The cry of pain from the woman rings out, and Stiles can’t help but look away as Peter swings out and slashes her throat. The man, Connor, tries to pull out his pistol from the holster but it slips from his hands and Peter is on him in seconds, now that his companion is bleeding out on the floor. Peter is no more merciful on him than her, pushing the man into the hard wall where his head smacks against it and he slumps down.

There’s a spot of blood on the wall from his head, but Stiles forces himself not to focus on that. He knew this would be bloody; That Peter wouldn’t hold back on anyone in their way or if they were someone who had hurt them. Stiles was really banking on them not running into their werewolf captors.

Without thinking, Stiles picks up the fallen pistol, checking the safety on instinct. Having a sheriff for a father taught him more than just stranger danger. The model of gun was familiar to him, much like Beacons’ police issued ones, and it was with confidence that he held it at his side as he followed a red-eyed Peter.

They didn’t say anything as they made their way past the bathroom doorway and on. Stiles assumed Peter knew where to go, and was scenting the outside through the walls. It all seemed too easy the further they made it without being stopped. There was a single man they came upon, who was too slow to react as Peter tackled him and punched him out in seconds.

Stiles’ heart raced but he felt safe having Peter around, violent or not. He could think of morality and all that after they were out.

“Not too far.” Peter says to him, looking ahead with perked ears. “I can smell fresh air.”

Stiles nods and follows, the two finally making it to what appears to be the door to a lobby. Whoever designed this building seriously had no creativity.

Peter enters first, the door opening easily. Stiles follows behind closely, all too aware of the quietness.

“Peter…” Stiles whispers, on edge. But the wolf is already growling.

It’s clear why, when the front doors on the other side of the room open up to admit one Gerard Argent, with two hunters on either side of him. They hold similar guns up at Peter, faces blank. Gerard himself is smiling.

“Hello, boys. This is quite the welcome, I’d say. By all that blood on your hands Mr. Hale, I’d say you’ve already had a go at some of my men. A shame really. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to put you down so early.”

Hearing Gerard’s voice again sends all kinds of bad signals through Stiles body, and he steps closer to Peter on instinct.

“And it’s a shame you’re hiding behind your men like the coward you are.” Peter growls back. Though he’s only half dressed and looking a little feral, stiles can just feel Peter’s concentrated rage at the old man. Everything that’s happened to them is because of him, after all. Stiles realizes he wouldn’t feel bad letting Peter have a go at Gerard.

Despite Peter’s words, Gerard doesn’t look put off or threatened in the least. He’s just smiling like the creep he is, so sure of his victory. Stiles should’ve known that the guards were the least of their worries.

Gerard is. And so are the two wolves closing the doors behind them.

Stiles jumps when they slam closed, looking behind him as Dallas and Jacob block off the way back.

_Shit. How is this all going so wrong?_

Stiles holds on to the pistol in his hand tightly, taking in how they’re surrounded now. The only way forward is through Gerard and his hunters. Who knows who else is waiting outside too?

Stiles steps forward a little, side to side with Peter, determined to get out of this without any added problems.

“You got what you wanted, Gerard. Let us go.” He says a calmly as he can.

“Hah. You call that tiny amount in the vial enough? No, no. I need much more, Stiles. And you’re going to give it to me even if I have to kill you pet wolf here.”

Stiles scowls at the old man. “Do you talk about all Weres like that? He’s no one’s pet.” The words make Stiles wonder, and he turns to look at their werewolf captors. “Does he talk to you like that? Why do you even work for him? He clearly hates Wolves!”

“Stiles.” Peter hisses, pulling Stiles back to side.

But he’s too busy looking at the wolves, who in turn look at each other. Dallas turns back, eyes red and cold.

“Because he’s promised us some of that power. Hard ta refuse, really.” He says simply.

Of course, Stiles thinks. So many villains think alike.

Jacob gets his attention when he laughs.

“Yeah, you could say that’s one of my reasons.” He says, eyeing Stiles up and down.

Yeah, still full on villain _and_ creep, this one.

Peter growls, glaring back at the man, perhaps smelling or just noticing the looks he was sending Stiles.

“Now, now. Let’s all just calm down. We can be civil about this, certainly.” Gerard says, pulling the attention back on himself. He gets the same hard look from Peter.

“Get out of our way, Gerard. We’re leaving.”

Was Peter really going to try and fight his way through? In nothing but his tattered pants and claws? Stiles is a good shot, but not so good as to not accidentally hit Peter if he wanted to be of any help.

“Men, if you would?” Gerard says, ignoring Peter altogether and motioning towards the two guards at his sides. They step forward at his command, and Peter is readying to fight. Stiles Steps back, keeping track of the wolves behind him but ready to defend Peter with the little pistol if needed.

It’s pointless though, when the hunters approach and Peter lunges, because the second he moves a shot rings out loud and clear.

Peter howls, and falls down.

It happens so fast that Stiles can’t understand what is happening at first, but when he sees it, sees _Peter_ on the ground holding his shoulder as blood seeps out with a black tinge; he knows that this has truly gone wrong in every way possible.

Stiles forgets to be cautious, throwing it in the wind as rushes to Peters side to help him  
“Peter! Peter, are you ok?” Stiles already knows the answer to that, but he can’t help but need to know how bad it is. Peters’ sagging form is indication that that is indeed fucking bad.

“Wolfs…bane… _Fuck_.” Peter growls out in a hiss of pain, holding his hand over his bleeding shoulder.

No. NO. This can’t be happening.

But the black veins are there, spreading from the wound and out like a cancer. And it would kill him like it too if untreated.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun. But times short, Father. Some annoyances got in the way and found us out.” Kate says, coming forward from behind Gerard with a careless swagger, rifle steaming in her hands.

Stiles has never hated someone as much her in his entire life as he does in this very moment.

She has her weapon still cocked and aimed at Peter. Stiles remedies that by stepping in front of Peters kneeling form. He aims his own pistol.

His hand shakes, and his heart is racing, but he holds his arm steady as he points it at her.

Kate doesn’t seem shocked by his actions; instead she smiles and laughs like the maniac she is.

“You won’t shoot me, Stiles. You can’t.”

“Wanna bet?” he challenges with a glare.

“Yes. Because if you kill me how’re you gonna heal lover-boy there?” she taunts, and fuck. She’s right. No one here is likely to help. He recalls her entering words though, of having to hurry. That someone found them out. Maybe if he can stall long enough…

The second his trigger finger relaxes, Stiles ready to comply if only to stall for time, he’s already lost.

“Stiles!” Peter yells, trying and failing to get off his knees, but it’s too late as the wolves, temporarily forgotten, take advantage. Jacob grabs his arm, yanking it back and causing the gun to drop uselessly onto the ground, out of anyone’s reach. The wolf easily pulls him away, away from the center of the room and away from Peter, whose attempting to intervene.

But he’s slowing down with the poison running through his veins, and Dallas easily kicks him down. Peter bares his fangs and swipes out the best he can, but he’s pushed back by the force of another shot ringing out. It hits his gut this time.

“NO!” Stiles struggles to get out of Jacobs’ hard grip, but it doesn’t happen. He’s forced to watch as the Alpha doesn’t let up, pulling Peter up to punch him in the face repeatedly. Kate is smiling in glee as she hovers closer to the two wolves.

_Why isn’t he fighting back? Come on, fight back Peter!_

But he can’t, because he’s dying, and Stiles is helpless to stop it. Just like he was helpless to stop anything else that’s happened to them here.

“Stop it! You’re killing him!” Stiles pleads, voice breaking and tears unabashedly running down his face. Jacob has him firmly around the waist now, easily holding him back as he’s brought next to Gerard. His eyes are torn away from the painful scene by the old man grabbing his chin and turning it towards him.

“You can make it stop, Stiles. You know what I want. Show me where the Nemeton is.”

Stiles is forced to look Gerard in the eyes, seeing nothing but cold calculation and something much darker within. Stiles gasps and shakes, the sound of Peter crying out again hurting to the very core.

“I-I Can’t! You know I can’t!” Stiles says, desperate and confused and scared.

“Yes you can, Stiles. Your magic can lead us to it, like a trail.” Gerard states, as if it was that simple.

Eyes wide, Stiles nods just to get the sounds of Peter’s pain to stop.

“H-How?” he asks quietly.

There’s a wet cough, followed by Peters voice.

“Stiles…Don’t give him…what he wants—“

The sound of a fist hitting cuts him off, and Stiles is almost glad he can’t see it happening.

“Just focus on it. Think of the Nemeton, and it’ll show the way. It chose you to be its caretaker, after all.”

Nothing makes sense, and everything is happening so fast. If Stiles were smarter, he’d be able to ‘believe’ up a way to magic him and Peter out, but his mind is distracted and he’s not sure if his magic would even be strong enough to do that.

Gerard releases his chin, and Stiles closes his eyes.

He thinks hard about the Nemeton. Tries to think about what it looks like, and how it would feel to connect to it. Deaton once said that he already has bond with it.

Another gut wrenching sound escapes out into the room, and Stiles is desperate. He’ll give Gerard what he fucking wants—all that matters is making sure Peter is ok.

“I’m trying! Just stop fucking hurting him!” Stiles shouts out.

“Dallas, if you would. The man’s already half dead.” Gerard calls out, not a hint of worry in his voice. He turns back to Stiles, who is looking at Peters limp from trying to stay up on his elbows. “You’d best hurry up, Stiles. We can’t save him if the poison kills him first.”

That can’t happen—Peter _can’t_ die. They had finally connected after all these years, over pain and suffering sure, but it was important. Peter had _kissed_ him. His first one—and not his last one with the older man if Stiles had anything to say about it.

Stiles keeps watching Peter, and the other man finally looks up. His face is bloodied and bruised, his nose bent awkwardly, but his eyes are bright red and looking forlornly at Stiles. He looks terrible.

And Stiles realizes he loves him.

And not just because he’s supposed to. Not just because they’re to be married, and not because they’ve spent the last week trapped together and practically tortured. He loves Peter for Peter. He’s shown more care over Stiles throughout Stiles whole life more than even his closest friends have. Everything he’d done—from being distant and cold, yet always around to check up on Stiles as he grew up, all to allowing Stiles time away at college; It was all for him. For _Stiles_.

“Don’t…” Peter whispers, his own eyes desperate.

Was the Nemeton worth Peter’s life? Honestly?

 _No_.

“I have to.” Stiles mouths back, closing his eyes because the anguished look Peter is sending him is _too much_. There wasn’t a lot of time left.

But nothing was happening, there was no ‘feeling’ or knowledge of where the Nemeton was and it frustrated Stiles to no end.

He wasn’t the only one. Kate grunts, shifting from foot to foot, her rifle reloaded with quick fingers.

“Hurry up, Stiles. I’ll shoot him right now and end his misery if you don’t speed it up. I’ll give you ten seconds.” She says, raising her gun.

“No! W-wait! I can do it, just let me try!” he cries out, but she’s not listening as she steps closer to Peter, who is slumped down in defeat, hands holding the harshest of wounds together.

“Ten…”

Stiles closes his eyes again, trying to focus.

“Nine….Eight.”

The room was tense and Stiles was stifling his crying the best he could as he forced himself to _feel_ the Nemeton.

“Six.”

Gerard apparently had no urge to stop her cruel act as she counts down, and his hunters are just as quiet.

“Five.”

“Four.”

 _Come on,_ he growls to himself. _Just think. Think. Believe!_

“Three.”

His Spark was apparently based on believing, so why was nothing happening? There was nothing close to tingles in his fingertips happening, and Kates’ counting just made his lungs want to freeze up. He falls to his knees in frustration, Jacob letting him but keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“One.”

Stiles opens his eyes to Kate raising the gun, aiming at Peters head.

“NO!”

His eyes are blurred by his tears, and time seems to freeze with her finger on the trigger.

And it stays there.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. But Stiles does, over and over to clear the wetness away as nothing happens. The hunters, the wolves, Gerard, and even Peter are all still as stone. It’s as if everything is frozen…

“Such a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, little Spark.” A voice says.

It comes from behind Stiles, but he’s unable to turn and look, the solid figure of Jacob blocking his view. The hand gripping his shoulder also keeps him in place.

“W-what?” is all he can say. There are footsteps coming closer, slow and soft. A new shadow falls off to his side, its owner just out of sight.

“We’re in your mind, Stiles. Time doesn’t pass here, and we have as much of it as we need to talk.” They say, and the voice plucks at something familiar—like he’s heard it before.

“Who are you?” Stiles whispers out, something inside him hesitant to look at the new presence.

“Who I am doesn’t matter, Stiles. Remember?” it asks.

His eyes widen, as a rush of words pass through his memory like water. The voice he’d heard while he was dying— _was_ dead. The promise of power and freedom from this prison with a voice of silk. But it’s different now, more ragged but just as…sly.

“It’s you.” he all but gasps out.

This must be what the figure was waiting for, because they finally step into view.

The first thing Stiles notes is that they are definitely _not_ human. The disintegrating wrapping around their entire head is evidence enough, if not also for the mouth of sharp teeth grinning down at him. Stiles gets a sense of death and decay from them, something long forgotten and buried away. The clothes it wears are from a past era, of brown leather and slacks covered in dried dirt. The smell of earth seeps into the air, which is weird considering they’re in Stiles’ mind right now.

“Who, _w-what_ are you?” he asks it.

It comes closer, standing next to Stiles side as it overlooks the room—still frozen in a scene of chaos.

“You’re asking the wrong questions, Stiles.” It says with an air of disappointment.

Stiles swallows, looking out at the room too. Peter is lying there, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he looks down, eyes closed. It’s more painful to see than anything Stiles ever could’ve thought possible.

_I’ll save you, Peter. No matter the cost._

“Please.” Stiles whispers out, desperate. “Can you save him?”

“Hmm. I can’t. But you _can_.” It replies.

The answer just makes Stiles feel more frustrated, tired and depressed all at once.

“But _how_??” he whines out. He doesn’t care, he just wants a helpful fucking answer for once.

The thing, whatever it is, steps in front of Stiles’ sitting form to kneel before him. This close, Stiles can see the wear of time more clearly on its clothes and wrappings. The earthy smell is wetter now, like after the passing of a strong downpour.

“I can show you, Stiles. If you’d let me.”

Something feels off about this, more than the obvious of course, but what choice does he have?

He won’t risk losing Peter. Selfish or not, that’s all he wants.

“Show me how.” Stiles says quietly, looking at the being in front of him.

It smiles, or at least Stiles thinks it does, before leaning in. Stiles has to fight to not recoil on instinct.

“It’s easy, little Spark. You just have to let me in.”

Again with that?

Stiles can’t help but glance once more at Peter. He nods his head repeatedly, urgently. Decision made.

“Yes, yeah. You can come in, just help me, _please_.” He begs it.

No further words were said, and it reaches its hands out, also wrapped behind fading gauze, to hold his face.

He doesn’t know what he expected to happen, but the rush of power he feels as they _merge_ is incredible. He feels his mind expand, broaden, and suddenly, he _understands_. So much, and yet so little. His spark is there, rushing out from an open doorway within him that he hadn’t known was there. Whoever the being was, they definitely knew what they were doing. And now he knows where the Nemeton is. Like a beacon, it calls out to his magic.

Time unfreezes, and Stiles gasps at the shift. Being in his mind had felt just as real as this, but he’s not fooled. This is very real now, and Peter needs him.

“Wait! I’ve got it!” he shouts, stopping Kate in her tracks as she steadies her aim. She lowers it, slightly, but it’s enough to get Stiles’ to calm a little.

“Really now? Show us, then.” She orders him, probably not believing him.

This time, when Stiles closes his eyes, he knows what to do. He lets the feeling of static wash over him and out into the physical world. _Lead me to the Nemeton_ , he tells it.

When he finally opens his eyes, there is a purple string made of mist and light particles descending from his chest and outwards, curving behind him and past Gerard. _It’s really working_ , Stiles thinks in wonder. His fingers sing with energy, but it only seems to want to be passively helpful.

 _‘For now_ ,’ a familiar voice says to him. _‘You will have your freedom once we reach the Nemeton.’_

Gerard and Kate, and even the hunters and wolves all seem mesmerized by the sight as well, staring in awe. Stiles takes a moment to check on Peter, but he’s met with a sad look and blue eyes that won’t meet his.

 _I did it for you_ , he tries to convey. But it’s pointless, and Peter’s probably in too much pain.

“Well, boys, Kate, looks like we’ve got a trail to follow. Are the vans ready?” Gerard says, the first to get back to business. Jacob nods behind Stiles, before pulling him up to his feet.

“Wait! You said you’d help Peter!” Stiles urges, all of his being hoping that they’re not about to just leave Peter here to die.

Gerard seems like he could care less, grunting and turning out the doorway, passing through the light-string harmlessly. It dissolves and reattaches after he does.

“Give him the antidote, Kate my dear. As long as Stiles keeps up his end of the deal, the wolf lives.”

Kate doesn’t look pleased when Stiles shoots wide watery eyes at her, but she sighs and takes a vial out of her pocket before dropping it by Peters’ hands. The man looks at it tiredly.

“Take your medicine wolf. Wouldn’t want to leave Stiles all alone with us _monsters_ , would you?” She tells him, already walking away to follow her father. Dallas is still above Peter, waiting.

With a lot of effort, Peter lifts his hand enough to grab the vial, finally sending an unreadable look towards Stiles.

Peter opens the small lid, drinking the antidote without hesitance.

The healing is almost instant, black veins that have spread up to Peters’ neck and all to his stomach disappear like ink washing away. It settles something in Stiles to see, knowing he’d be ok now.

It mustn’t taste very good, because Peter tosses the vial away without care, slowly managing to get to his knees. He’s not breathing hard anymore either, and there’s no fresh blood dripping. He’s still clearly in pain, but it’ll fade.

And all because Stiles gave up the Nemeton.

 He wouldn’t take it back, especially not now, even as they’re lead in the direction of the ongoing light trail, with Gerard planning to do who knows what with it.

He just hopes that Peter will forgive him for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Yeah.
> 
> I like the idea of the Nogitsune as a sly non-gendered god-like being who has a way with words. But there's always a price to pay for power right? I'm excited to get the next chapter out!! Hope I did alright and it wasn't too 'out there' to be believable.


End file.
